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BARB 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BARBARA    REBELL 


BARBARA  REBELL 


By 
MRS.  BELLOC-LOWNDES 

Author    of    "The    Heart    of    Penelope" 


Frontispiece  by 
GILBERT   WHITE 


AUTHORIZED  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 
B.    W.   DODGE   AND    COMPANY 

1907 


PROLOGUE. 

*•  Have  regard  to  thy  name ;  for  that  shall  continue  with  thee 
above  a  thousand  great  treasures  of  gold." 

ECCLESIASTICUS  xL  12. 

Barbara  Rebell's  tenth  birthday, — that  is  the 
ninth  of  June,  1870, — was  destined  to  be  long  remem- 
bered by  her  as  a  day  of  days ;  both  as  having  seen 
the  first  meeting  with  one  who,  though  unknown  till 
then,  had  occupied  a  great  place  in  her  imagination,  if 
only  because  the  name  of  this  lady,  her  godmother, 
had  been  associated  every  night  and  morning  with 
that  of  her  father  and  mother  in  her  prayers,  and 
as  having  witnessed  the  greatest  of  her  childish 
disappointments. 

Certain  dates  to  most  of  us  become  in  time  retro- 
spectively memorable,  and  doubtless  this  sunny, 
fragrant  June  day  would  in  any  case  have  been 
remembered  by  Barbara  as  the  last  of  a  long  series  of 
high  days  and  holidays  spent  by  her  in  her  French 
home  during  the  first  few  years  of  her  life.  Barbara 
Rebell  left  St.  Germains  two  months  after  her  tenth 
birthday ;  but  the  town  which  has  seen  so  few  changes 
in  its  stately,  ordered  beauty,  since  it  afforded  a  mag- 
nificent hospitality  to  the  last  Stuart  King  and  Queen 
of  England,  always  remained  to  her  *'  home,"  in  the 

B.R.  B 


,'  .^'^ 


2  BARBARA   REBELL. 

dear  and  intimate  sense  of  the  word,  and  that  for  many 
years  after  everything  save  the  actual  roof  and  walls  of 
the  villa  where  Mr.  .aid  Mrs.  Rebell  had  lived  such  long, 
and  on  the  whole  such  peaceful  years,  had  been  destroyed 
— overwhelmed  with  locust-like  destruction — by  the 
passage  of  an  alien  soldiery. 

But  early  in  the  June  of  1870  there  was  nothing  to 
show  what  July  and  August  were  to  bring  to  France, 
and  the  various  incide.ity  which  so  much  impressed  the 
child's  imagination,  and  made  the  day  memorable, 
were  almost  wholly  connected  with  that  solitary'  inner 
life  which  is  yet  so  curiously  affected  by  material 
occurrences. 

Barbara's  birthday  began  very  differently  from  what 
she  had  thought  it  would  do.  The  little  girl  had 
pleasant  recollections  of  the  fashion  in  which  her  last 
fete  day,  "  la  Sainte  Barbe,"  had  been  celebrated. 
She  remembered  vividly  the  white  bouquets  brought 
by  the  tradespeople,  the  cakes  and  gifts  offered  by  her 
little  French  friends,  they  who  dwelt  in  Legitimist 
seclusion  in  the  old  town — for  St.  Germains  was  at 
that  time  a  Royalist  stronghold — far  from  the  sup- 
posed malign  influence  of  the  high  forest  trees,  and 
broad,  wind-swept  Terrace,  which  had  first  attracted 
Barbara's  parents,  and  caused  them  to  choose  St. 
Germains  as  their  place  of  retreat. 

And  so  Barbara  had  looked  forward  very  eagerly  to 
her  tenth  birthday,  but  by  eleven  o'clock  what,  so  far, 
had  it  brought  her  ?  No  bouquets,  no  cakes,  no  trifling 
gifts  of  the  kind  she  loved  !  As  she  sat  out  in  her  little 
chair  on  the  balcony  of  which  the  gilt  balustrade  was 
now  concealed  by  festoons  of  green  leaves  and  white 
roses,  and  from  which  opened  the  windows  of  her 
mother's  drawing-room,  the  child's  conscience  pricked 
her  somewhat.     Had  not  her  parents  early  called  her 


BARBARA   REBELL.  3 

into  their  room  and  presented  her  with  a  beautifu 
little  gold  watch — a  gift,  too,  brought  specially  from 
London  by  Mr.  Daman,  a  Queen's  Messenger,  who  was 
one  of  her  father's  oldest  friends,  and  one  of  the  very 
few  English-speaking  folk  who  ever  sought  out  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rebell  in  their  seclusion  ? 

"You  may  wear  it  all  to-day,"  her  mother  had  said 
with  some  solemnity,  *'but  after  to-night  I  will  put  it 
away  until  you  are  old  enough  to  take  care  of  a  watch." 
In  time  the  little  watch  became  a  cherished  possession, 
a  dear  familiar  friend,  but  on  this  first  day  of  ownership 
Barbara  took  small  pleasure  in  her  gift. 

The  child  had  not  liked  to  ask  if  any  further  birth- 
day treat  was  in  contemplation.  She  stood  in  great ' 
awe  of  her  quiet-mannered,  preoccupied  father  :  and, 
while  loving  her  gentle,  kind  mother  with  all  her  eager 
passionate  little  heart,  she  did  not  at  that  time  under- 
stand how  tenderly  she  herself  was  loved  in  return  by 
the  fragile,  pensive  looking  woman,  who  seemed  to 
those  about  her  absorbed  rather  in  her  husband  than 
in  her  daughter. 

And  so,  after  having  been  dismissed  rather  curtly  by 
her  father,  Barbara  had  made  her  way  disconsolately 
out  to  the  balcony  which  was  in  a  sense  her  play-room, 
for  there  she  spent  many  of  her  solitary  hours.  Sitting 
in  her  own  little  wicker  chair,  with  The  Fairchild 
Family  lying  on  the  osier  table  by  her  side,  and  Les 
Malheiirs  de  Sophie  on  her  lap,  she  wondered  rather 
wistfully  what  the  day  to  which  she  had  so  much 
looked  forward  was  likely  to  bring  forth. 

Dressed  in  a  white  India  muslin  frock,  her  long  dark 
hair  curled,  as  was  the  fashion  in  those  days,  and  tied 
neatly  out  of  the  way  with  a  pale  blue  ribbon,  her 
unseeing  eyes  gazing  at  one  of  the  most  beautiful  views 
in  the  world,  little  Barbara  Rebell,  not  for  the  first  time, 


4  BARBARA   REBELL. 

fell  to  wondering  wliy  her  life  was  so  different  from 
that  of  the  English  children  of  whom  she  read  in  the 
books  her  mother  had  lately  sent  for  from  the  home 
of  her  own  childhood.  Even  the  Fairchilds  were  a 
family,  not  a  solitary  little  girl ;  each  of  the  French 
children  she  knew  had  at  least  one  brother  or  sister 
apiece  to  bear  them  company,  and  all  through  her' 
thoughts  —  her  disconnected,  discontented  birthday 
thoughts — there  ran  a  thread  of  uneasy  wonder  as  to 
why  she  and  her  parents  were  livin;;  here  in  France 
instead  of  in  far  away  England. 

Barbara  had  of  late  become  dimly  aware  that  her 
mother  made  no  effort  to  enter  into  the  eager,  cheerful 
life  about  her;  even  after  many  years  spent  entirely  in 
France  Mrs.  Rebell  still  spoke  French  with  a  certain 
difficulty,  and  she  had  tacitly  refused  to  form  any  tie 
but  one  of  courteous  acquaintance  with  tiie  few 
French  families  with  whom — entirely  for  the  sake  of 
her  child,  but  Barbara  did  not  know  that — she  had 
entered  into  social  relation,  using  a  Protestant  banker 
as  a  connecting  link. 

The  summer  before  her  tenth  birthday  Barbara  had 
overheard  some  fragments  of  a  conversation  held 
between  two  mothers  of  some  of  her  little  French 
friends;  and  the  few  words,  so  carelessly  uttered,  had 
roused  a  passion  of  emotion  in  the  innocent  eaves- 
dropper :  the  feeling  which  most  predominated  being 
the  unreasoning,  pathetic  surprise  felt  by  a  childish 
mind  when  brought  suddenly  across  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  masked  attack. 

"  Enfin  qu'est  que  ce  Monsieur  Rebell  a  bien  pu  faire 
de  si  terrible  ?  Pour  moi  il  a  un  air  sinistre,  cet  homme- 

**  Peut-etre  a-t-il   tu6  quelqu'un  en  duel  I     II  parait 


BARBARA   REBELL.  5 

qu'en  Angleterre  on  est  devenu  feroce  snr  ce 
chdpitre-la." 

"En  tous  cas,  cette  pauvre  Madame  Rebell  est  bien 
jolie,  et  bien  k  plaindre  !  " 

The  effect  of  these  few  carelessly  uttered  words  had 
been  to  transform  the  listener  from  a  happy  baby  into  a 
thoughtful,  over-sensitive  little  girl.  Barbara  had  felt  a 
wild  revolt  and  indignation  in  the  knowledge  that  her 
parents  were  being  thus  discussed — that  her  father 
should  be  described  as  "sinister,"  her  mother  pitied. 
Again  and  again  she  repeated  to  herself  the  words  that 
she  had  heard  :  their  meaning  had  stamped  itself  on  her 
mind.  Could  her  father  have  indeed  killed  a  man  in  a 
duel  ?  To  Barbara  the  thought  was  at  once  horrible 
and  fascinating,  and  she  brooded  over  it,  turning  the 
idea  this  way  and  that  :  the  constant  companionship  of 
her  mother — for  Mrs.  Rebell  rarely  left  her  alone  with 
their  French  servants — having  unconsciously  taught 
her  a  deep  and  almost  secretive  reserve. 

Were  her  father  guilty  of  what  these  French  ladies 
suspected,  then — or  so  thought  Barbara — his  subdued, 
melancholy  air  was  indeed  natural,  as  also  his  apparent 
dislike  of  meeting  fellow  countrymen  and  country- 
women, for  he  and  his  wife  always  markedly  avoided 
any  English  visitors  to  St.  Germains.  Now  and  again 
Mr.  Rebell  would  spend  a  long  day  in  Paris,  returning 
laden  with  a  large  parcel  of  books,  the  latest  English 
novels  for  his  wife,  more  serious  volumes  for  his  own 
perusal ;  but  both  Mrs.  Rebell  and  Barbara  had  learnt 
to  dread  these  expeditions,  for  they  brought  with  them 
sad  after-days  of  silent  depression  and  restlessness 
which  left  their  effect  on  the  wife  long  after  the  traveller 
himself  had  regained  his  usual  sombre  quietude  of 
manner. 

Barbara  was  secretly  proud  of  the  fact  that  her  father 


6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

wa«  so  extremely  unlike,  both  in  manner  and  in  appear- 
ance, the  Frenchmen  who  now  formed  his  only 
acquaintances.  This  was  perhaps  owing  in  a  measure 
to  the  periodical  visit  of  his  London  tailor,  for  Richard 
Rebell  had  retained  amid  his  misfortunes — and  he  was 
fond  of  telling  himself  that  no  living  man  had  been  so 
unfortunate — the  one-time  dandy's  fastidiousness  about 
his  dress.  The  foreigners  with  whom  he  was  unwillingly 
brought  in  contact  sometimes  speculated  as  to  the 
mysterious  Englishman's  probable  age ;  his  hair  was 
already  grey,  his  pale,  coldly  impassive  face  had  none  of 
the  healthy  tints  of  youth,  yet  he  was  still  upright  and 
vigorous,  and  possessed  to  a  singular  degree  what  the 
French  value  above  all  things,  distinction  of  appearance. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  Mr.  Rebell  was  only  some  twelve 
years  older  than  his  still  girlish-looking  wife;  but 
certain  terrible  events  seemed  to  have  had  a  petrifying 
effect  both  on  his  mind  and  on  his  appearance,  intensi- 
fied by  the  fact  that  both  he  and  Mrs.  Rebell  tacitly 
chose  to  live  as  if  in  a  world  of  half-lights  and  neutral 
tints,  rarely  indeed  alluding  to  the  past,  instinctively 
avoiding  any  topic  which  cuuld  cause  them  emotion. 

Every  age, — it  might  be  said  with  truth  every  decade, 
— has  its  ideal  of  feminine  beauty  ;  and  the  man  who  had 
been  the  Richard  Rebell  of  the  London  'fifties  would 
instinctively  have  chosen  and  been  chosen  by  the 
loveliest  girl  in  the  brilliant  world  in  which  they  both 
then  moved  and  had  their  being.  Adela  Oglander,  the 
youngest  child  of  a  Hampshire  squire,  had  indeed  been 
very  lovely,  satisfying  in  every  point  the  ideal  of  her 
day,  of  her  race,  and  of  her  generation  :  slender  and  yet 
not  over  tall :  golden-haired  and  blue-eyed  :  with  deh- 
cate  regular  features,  and  rounded  cheeks  in  which  the 
colour  soon  came  and  went  uncertainly  when  Richard 


BARBARA  REBELL.  7 

Rebell  began  to  haunt  the  Mayfair  ball-rooms  where  he 
knew  he  would  meet  her  and  her  placid,  rather  foolish 
mother.  The  girl's  sunny  beauty  and  artless  charm  of 
manner  had  delighted  the  social  arbiters  of  the  hour. 
She  became,  in  the  sense  which  was  then  possible,  the 
fashion,  and  her  engagement  to  Richard  Rebell,  finally 
arranged  at  the  royal  garden  party  which  in  those  days 
took  place  each  season  in  the  old-world  gardens  of 
Chiswick  House,  had  been  to  themselves  as  well  as  to 
their  friends  a  happy,  nine  days'  wonder. 

Richard  Rebell  had  been  long  regarded  as  a  bachelor 
of  bachelors,  a  man  whose  means  did  not  permit  of 
such  a  luxury  as  marriage  to  ill-dowered  beauty.  But 
his  friends  reminded  themselves  that  he  was  in  a  sense 
heir  to  a  fine  property,  now  in  the  actual  ownership  of 
his  cousin,  a  certain  Madame  Sampiero,  a  beautiful 
childless  woman  separated  from  the  Corsican  adventurer 
whom  she  had  married  in  one  of  those  moments  of 
amazing,  destructive  folly  which  occasionally  overwhelm 
a  certain  type  of  clever  and  high-spirited  English- 
woman. Still,  if  there  were  some  who  shook  their 
heads  over  the  imprudence  of  such  a  marriage  as  that 
of  Richard  Rebell  and  Adela  Oglander,  all  the  world 
loves  a  lover,  and  every  man  who  had  obtained  the 
privilege  of  an  introduction  to  Miss  Oglander  envied 
Rebell  his  good  fortune,  for  his  betrothed  was  as  good 
and  as  blithesome  as  she  was  pretty. 

Later,  when  recalling  that  enchanted  time,  and  the  five 
happy  years  which  had  followed,  Mrs.  Rebell  told  herself 
that  there  had  then  been  meted  out  to  her  full  measure 
of  life's  happiness :  she  might,  alas  !  have  added  that 
since  that  time  Providence  had  dealt  out  to  her,  as  com- 
pletely, full  measure  of  pain  and  suffering.  For  v/hat 
was  hidden  from  the  little  circle  of  kindly  French  gossips 
at  St.  Germains  had  been  indeed  a  very  tragic  thing. 


8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

After  those  first  cloudless  years  of  happy,  nay  trium- 
phant, married  life,  the  popular,  much-envied  man- 
about-town,  the  proud  husband  of  one  of  the  loveliest 
and  most  considered  of  younger  London  hostesses,  had 
gradually  become  aware  that  he  was  being  looked  at 
askance  and  shunned  by  those  great  folk  to  whose 
liking  he  attached  perhaps  undue  importance. 

Then  had  followed  a  period  of  angry,  incredulous 
amazement,  till  a  well-meaning  friend  found  courage  to 
tell  him  the  truth.  It  had  come  to  be  thought  that  he 
"sometimes"  cheated  at  cards — more,  it  was  whispered 
that  he  had  actually  been  caught  red-handed  in  the 
house  of  a  friend  who  had  spared  him  exposure  in 
deference  to  what  were  then  still  the  English  laws  of 
hospitality.  His  chief  accuser,  the  man  to  whom 
Rebell,  once  on  his  track,  again  and  again  traced  the 
fatal  rumour,  was,  as  so  often  happens  in  such  cases, 
himself  quite  unimportant  till  he  became  the  man  of 
straw  round  whom  raged  one  of  the  most  painful  and 
protracted  libel  suits  fought  in  nineteenth  century 
England. 

At  first  public  opinion,  or  rather  the  opinion  of  those 
whom  Rebell  regarded  as  important,  ranged  itself  on 
his  side,  and  there  were  many  who  considered  that  he 
had  been  ill-advised  to  take  any  notice  of  the  matter. 
But  when  it  became  known,  and  that  in  the  pitiless, 
clear  publicity  afforded  by  a  court  of  law,  that  the 
plaintiff's  private  means  were  very  small,  much  smaller 
than  had  been  suspected  even  by  those  who  thought 
themselves  his  intimates,  that  he  was  noted  for  his  high 
play,  and,  most  damaging  fact  of  all,  that  he  had  been 
instrumental  in  forming  a  new  and  very  select  club  of 
which  the  stated  object  was  play,  and  nothing  but  play, 
feeling  veered  sharply  round.  Richard  Rebell  admitted 
— and  among  his  backers  it  was  pointed  out  that  such 


BARBARA   REBELL.  9 

an  admission  made  for  innocence — that  a  not  unim- 
portant portion  of  his  income  had  for  some  time  past 
consisted  of  his  card  winnings.  That  this  should  be 
even  said  outraged  those  respectable  folk  who  like  to 
think  that  gambling  and  ruin  are  synonymous  terms. 
Yet,  had  they  looked  but  a  little  below  the  surface, 
where  could  they  have  found  so  striking  a  confirmation 
of  their  view  as  in  this  very  case  ? 

To  cut  the  story  short,  the  lawsuit  ended  in  a  virtual 
triumph  for  the  man  whose  malicious  dislike  and  envy 
of  the  plaintiff  had  had  to  himself  so  unexpected  a 
result.  Richard  Rebell  was  awarded  only  nominal 
damages.  The  old  adage,  "  The  greater  the  truth  the 
greater  the  libel,"  was  freely  quoted,  and  the  one-time 
man  of  fashion  and  his  wife  disappeared  with  dramatic 
suddenness  from  the  world  in  which  they  had  both  been 
once  so  welcome.  Apart  from  every  other  reason,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Rebell  would  have  been  compelled,  by  their 
financial  circumstances,  to  alter  what  had  been  their 
way  of  life.  All  that  remained  to  them  after  the  heavy 
costs  of  the  lawsuit  were  paid  was  the  income  of  Mrs. 
Rebell's  marriage  settlement,  and  then  it  was  that 
Richard  Rebell's  cousin,  the  Madame  Sampiero  to 
whom  reference  has  already  been  made,  arranged  to 
give  her  cousin — who  was,  as  she  eagerly  reminded 
him,  her  natural  heir — an  allowance  which  practically 
trebled  his  small  income.  Thanks  to  her  generosity 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rebell  and  their  only  child,  born  three 
years  after  their  marriage,  had  been  able  to  live  in  con- 
siderable comfort  and  state  in  the  French  town  finally 
chosen  by  them  as  their  home  of  exile,  where  they 
had  been  fortunate  in  finding,  close  to  the  Forest  and 
the  Terrace,  a  house  which  had  belonged  to  one  of 
the  great  Napoleon's  generals.  The  hero's  descendants 
were  in  high  favour  at  the  Tuileries  and  had  no  love  for 


10  BARBARA   REBELL. 

quiet  St.  Germains :  they  had  accordinq^ly  been  over- 
joyed to  find  an  English  tenant  for  the  stately  villa 
which  contained  many  relics  of  their  famous  firbear, 
a.n<\  of  which  the  furnishings,  while  pleasing  the  fine 
taste  of  Richard  Rebell,  seemed  to  them  hopelessly 
rococo  and  out  of  date. 

As  time  went  on,  Adela  Rebell  suffered  more  rather 
than  less.  She  would  have  preferred  the  humblest 
lodging  in  the  quietest  of  English  hamlets  to  the 
charming  villa  which  was  still  full  of  mementoes  of  the 
soldier  who  had  found  a  glorious  death  at  Waterloo. 
Sometimes  she  would  tell  her?elf  that  all  might  yet  go 
well  with  her,  and  her  beloved,  her  noble,  her  ill-used 
Richard — for  so  she  ever  thought  of  him — were  it  not 
for  their  child.  The  knowledge  that  Barbara  would 
never  enjoy  the  happy  and  lightsome  youth  which  had 
been  her  own  portion  was  bitter  indeed  :  the  conviction 
that  her  daughter  must  be  cut  off  from  all  the  pleasant 
girlish  joys  and  privileges  of  her  English  contemporaries 
brought  deep  pain. 

Let  us  now  return  to  Barbara  and  to  the  birthday 
which  was  to  prove  eventful.  The  little  girl  was  still 
hesitating  between  her  French  and  her  English  story- 
book when  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  opened,  and 
she  saw  her  mother's  slight  figure  advancing  languidly 
across  the  shining  floor  to  the  deep  chair  where  she 
always  sat.  A  moment  later  Barbara's  father  came 
into  the  room  :  he  held  a  newspaper  in  his  hand,  and 
instinctively  the  child  knew  that  he  was  both  annoyed 
and  angered. 

"Adela,"  he  said,  in  the  formal  and  rather  cold 
accent  which  both  his  wife  and  child  had  come  to 
associate  with  something  painful  or  unpleasant,  "  I 
should  like  you  to  read  this," — then  he  added  :  "  Well, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  ii 

no,  I  think  I  will  ask  you  to  listen,  while  I  translate  it," 
and  slowly  he  read,  choosing  his  words  with  some  care, 
anxious  to  render  every  shade  of  meaning,  the  follow- 
ing sentences,  composing  one  of  the  happily-named 
"  Echoes  "  printed  on  the  front  page  of  the  Figaro,  the 
then  newly-established,  brilliant  journal  vvhich  had 
become  the  most  widely  read  paper  in  French  society : — 

"  Her  Majesty  the  Empress  to-day  received  in 
private  audience  Madame  Sampiero,  nee  Rebell,  one  of 
the  most  sympathetic  and  distinguished  of  English 
great  ladies,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  name 
of  Sampiero  is  full  of  glorious  memories  to  those  who 
know  and  care — and  what  good  Frenchman  does  not 
do  so  ? — for  the  noble  traditions  of  Corsican  history. 
Mylady  Sampiero  " — here  Barbara's  father  suddenly 
lowered  the  paper  and,  glancing  at  his  wife,  gave  a 
queer  sardonic  laugh — "  was  presented  subsequently  to 
his  Majesty  the  Emperor  by  the  noted  English  states- 
man, Mylord  Bosworth,  who,  it  will  be  remembered, 
was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  our  Sovereign  when  he, 
as  Prince  Louis  Napoleon,  was  living  a  life  of  exile  in 
London.  Indeed,  it  v/as  Mylord  who  first  gratified 
the  London  world  ^^■ith  the  nev/s  that  the  prisoner  of 
Ham  had  escaped." 

There  was  a  slight  pause :  Mr.  Rebell  laid  the  Figaro 
down  on  a  gilt-rimmed  table  which  stood  close  to  his 
wife's  chair. 

"Well?"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  that? 
You'll  see  it  dished  up,  and  who  can  wonder  at  it,  in 
next  week's  Vanity  Fair  I " 

The  child,  sitting  out  on  the  balcony,  saw  her  mother's 
pale  face  become  gradually  suffused  with  colour,  and 
she  heard  the  almost  whispered  words,  "  Yes,  most 
unfortunate !  But,  my  dear,  how  could  poor  Bar  have 
foreseen  such  a  thing  ?  " 


la  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  Of  course  Bar  did  not  foresee  this,  but  equally  of 
course  Bosworth  must  have  supplied  the  Figaro  with 
the  main  facts — how  else  could  this  absurdly  worded 
note  have  been  written  ?  "  He  added  slowly,  "  This  is 
obviously  Bosworth's  idea  of  a  rebuff  to  the  Embassy — 
Ah  well !  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  but  I  had  it  from 
Daman  yesterday  that  Barbara,  immediately  on  her 
arrival  in  Paris,  had  been  sent  word  that  she  must  not 
expect,  this  time,  to  be  received  at  the  Embassy." 

As  he  spoke  Richard  Rebell  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  with  quick,  rather  mincing  steps :  again  he 
came  and  stood  before  his  wife:  "Our  name  dragged  in  !" 
he  exclaimed,  "apropos  of  nothing!  "  a  note  of  sharp 
chagrin  and  disgust  piercing  in  his  quiet  voice.  "  And 
this  ridiculous,  this  farcical  reference  to  that  adventurer, 
if  indeed  Sampiero  is  the  man's  real  name,  of  which  I 
always  had  my  doubts  !  " 

The  colour  faded  from  Mrs.  Rebell's  cheek ;  she  put 
her  hand  with  an  instinctive  movement  to  her  side: 
"  Richard,"  she  said,  her  voice  faltering,  in  spite  of 
herself,  "  the  letter  I  received  to-day  was  from  Barbara 
Sampiero.  She  is  staying,  as  you  know,  at  Meurice's, 
and — and — pray  do  not  be  angry,  my  love,  but  she 
proposes  to  come  out  and  see  us  here,  to-day !  " 

Her  husband  made  no  answer.  He  stood  speech- 
lessly looking  down  at  her,  and  when  the  silence 
became  intolerable  Mrs.  Rebell  again  spoke,  but  in  a 
firmer,  less  apologetic  tone.  "  And  oh !  Richard,  I 
shall  be  so  glad  to  see  her — I  can  never  never  forget 
how  good  she  was  to  me  years  ago — how  nobly  generous 
she  has  been  to  us  all,  since  that  time." 

Richard  Rebell  turned  abruptly  away.  He  walked 
to  the  open  window,  and  little  Barbara,  glancing  up, 
noticed  with  surprise  that  her  father  looked  very  hot, 
that  even  his  forehead  had  reddened.     Standing  there, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  13 

staring  out  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  wonderful  view 
unrolled  below,  he  closed  and  opened  his  right  hand 
with  a  nervous  gesture,  as  he  at  last  answered,  "  Of 
course,  I  also  shall  be  glad  to  see  her.  Though,  mind 
you,  Adela,  I  think  that  during  all  these  long  years  she 
might  have  found  time  to  come  before."  Turning 
round,  he  added,  "  Surely  you  are  not  afraid  that  I 
shall  insult  my  kinswoman  in  what  is,  after  all, 
my  own  house?"  and  then,  as  his  wife  made  no 
answer,  he  said  with  sudden  suspicion,  "  Of  course, 
she  is  coming  alone  ?  She  would  not  have  dared  to 
propose  anything  else  ?  " 

Mrs.  Rebell  rose  from  her  chair.  She  came  and 
stood  by  her  husband,  and  for  the  first  time  became 
aware  of  her  little  daughter's  presence  on  the  balcony. 
She  had,  however,  said  too  much  to  retreat,  and 
perhaps  she  felt  that  the  child,  sitting  out  there,  would 
make  her  difficult  task  easier. 

"  No,  Richard,  unfortunately  she  does  not  propose 
to  come  alone.  It  seems  that  Lord  Bosworth  has  been 
given  the  use  of  one  of  the  Imperial  carriages,  and  he 
proposes  to  drive  her  here,  the  whole  way  from  Paris. 
He  is  staying,  it  appears,  at  the  Bristol." 

And  then,  turning  away,  she  burst  into  sudden 
stormy  tears,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  swaying 
from  head  to  foot  with  suppressed  sobs. 

Barbara  watched  the  scene  with  bewildered  surprise 
and  terror.  It  is  good  when  a  child's  ideal  of  married 
life  is  founded  on  that  of  her  own  father  and  mother. 
Richard  Rebell  was  often  impatient  and  irritable,  but 
the  little  girl  had  never  seen  the  shadow  of  anything 
resembling  a  dissension  between  her  parents.  What 
then  did  this  mean,  what  did  her  mother's  tears  portend  ? 
But  already  Mrs.  Rebell  was  making  a  determined 
effort  to  command  herself.     Her  husband  put  his  arm, 


14  BARBARA   REBELL. 

not  untenderly,  round  her  shoulder,  and,  with  his  face 
set  in  stern  lines,  led  her  back  to  her  seat.  Then 
Barbara  suddenly  darted  into  the  room,  and  flung 
herself  on  her  mother,  putting  her  slender  arms  round 
that  dear  mother's  neck,  and  so  making,  all  uncon- 
sciously, a  welcome  diversion.  Mrs.  Rebell  even 
laughed  a  little.  "  Dear  child — my  little  Barbara — 
}ou  didn't  know  that  grown-up  people  ever  cried !  " 

But  Barbara  was  already  retreating  to  the  balcony, 
and  she  heard  her  father  say  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  for 
the  first  time  he  realised  that  his  words  might  be  over- 
heard :  "  I  am  sure  you  do  not  seriously  contemplate 
our  receiving  Bar  and — and  Bosworth,  together  ?  The 
idea  is  monstrous !  Whatever  has  come  and  gone, 
however  degraded  I  may  have  become  among  my 
fellows,  I  still  have  the  right  to  protect  my  wife  from 
insult,  and  to  expect  her  to  obey  me  in  such  a  matter 
as  this." 

But  Mrs.  Rebell  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
looked  up  in  the  troubled  face  of  the  man  opposite  her 
with  a  look  at  once  appealing  and  unsubmissive. 
"Richard!"  she  cried,  "oh  Richard!  I  always  do 
obey  you.  When  have  you  ever  known  me  go  against 
your  wish,  or  even  desire  to  do  so  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently,  and  she  added 
urgently,  "  But  in  this  one  matter — oh,  my  dear  love — 
pray  try  and  look  at  it  from  my  point  of  view  !  It  is 
Barbara  I  wish  to  receive — Barbara  who  is  of  conse- 
quence to  us.  I  know  well  all  you  would  say,"  the 
speaker  gave  a  sudden  imperceptible  look  towards  the 
open  window,  "  but  you  would  not  put  so  cruel  an 
affront  on  that  noble,  generous  creature !  Ah,  yes, 
Richard,  she  is  noble,  she  is  generous." 

"  Her  generosity  shall  cease  to-morrow — nay,  to-day," 
he  said  grimly. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  15 

"  Do  not  say  so  !  "  she  cried,  starting  up ;  and 
her  little  daughter,  gazing  fascinated,  thought  she  had 
never  till  to-day  seen  her  mother  look  really  alive, 
alive  as  other  women  are.  Mrs.  Rebell  had  pushed 
her  fair  hair  off  her  forehead,  and  her  cheeks  were  red, 
her  blue  eyes  bright,  with  excitement. 

"  Ah  no,  Richard,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that — not  of 
such  generosity  as  can  be  made  to  cease  to-morrow  or 
to-day;  but  of  Barbara's  long  goodness  to  us  both, 
nay,  if  you  like  to  put  it  so,  of  her  goodness  to  me, 
who  am  in  no  way  related  to  her !  Could  any  sister 
have  been  kinder  than  she  has  been  ?  Were  any  of 
my  own  sisters  as  kind  ?  True,  we  did  not  choose  to 
avail  ourselves  of  her  hospitality." 

"  I  think  that  now,  even  you,  Adela,  must  see  that 
I  was  right  in  that  matter."  Richard  Rebell  spoke 
rather  drily. 

"I  never  questioned  it,"  she  said,  sharply;  "you 
know,  Richard,  I  never  questioned  your  decision!  " 

There  was  a  pause.  The  memories  of  both  husband 
and  wife  were  busy  with  the  past,  with  an  offer  which 
had  been  made  to  them  by  Richard  Rebell's  kinswoman, 
the  offer  of  a  home  in  England,  and  of  a  chance,  or  so 
the  wife  had  thought  at  the  time,  of  ultimate  rehabili- 
tation for  one  whom  many  even  then  thought  completely 
innocent  of  the  charge  brought  against  him. 

Adela  Rebell  was  a  woman  of  high  honesty,  and  so, 

"That  is  not  quite  true,"  she  said  reluctantly,  **  I  did 

I  question  your  decision  in  my  heart,  and  I  see  now  that 

you  were  right.     And  yet  perhaps,  my  dear,  if  we  had 

been  there ?  " 

Richard  Rebell  got  up.  He  went  and  deliberately 
closed  the  window,  making  a  temporary  prisoner  ot 
the  little  girl :  then  he  came  back,  and  answered,  very 
composedly,  the  meaning  of  the  half-question  which  his 


i6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

wife's  shrinking  delicacy  had  prevented  her  putting  into 
words.  **  Our  being  there,  Adela,  would  not  have  made 
the  slightest  difference,"  he  gave  her  a  peculiar,  not 
unkindly  look,  "  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  then  aware 
of  what  you  apparently  only  began  to  suspect  long 
after;  and  I  think  that  you  will  admit  that  the  state  of 
things  would  have  made  our  position  at  Chancton 
intolerable.  We  should  very  naturally  have  been 
expected  to  shut  our  eyes — to  pander " 

"Yes — yes  indeed!"   his  wife  shrank  back.     "But 

you  never  told  me  this  before Why  did  you  not 

tell  me  at  the  time  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  he  answered,  very  quietly,  "  that  is  not 
the  sort  of  thing  a  man  cares  to  tell,  even  his  wife,  when 
the  heroine  of  the  tale  is  his  own  cousin.  And  Barbara, 
as  you  have  reminded  me  to-day,  had  behaved,  and 
was  behaving,  very  generously  to  us  both." 

"  But  if— if  you  felt  like  that,  why " 

Mrs.  Rebell  looked  up  imploringly;  she  knew  what 
this  conversation  meant  in  pain  and  retrospective 
anguish  to  them  both.  But  again  Richard  Rebell 
answered,  very  patiently,  his  wife's  unspoken  question, 
"  Well,  I  admit  that  I  am  perhaps  illogical.  But  what 
happened  two  years  ago,  I  mean  the  birth  of  Barbara's 
child — has  made  a  difference  to  my  feeling.  I  don't 
think" — bespoke  questioningly  as  if  to  himself,  "  I  hope 
to  God  I  don't  feel  as  I  do  owing  to  any  ignoble 
disappointment  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  indeed  not ! "  There  was  an  accent  of 
eager  protest  in  Adela  Rebell's  voice :  "  Besides,  she 
wrote  and  said — she  has  said  again  and  again — that  it 
will  make  no  difference." 

"  In  any  case,"  he  spoke  rather  coldly,  "  Barbara 
Sampiero  is  certain  to  outlive  me,  and  I  do  not  think 
anything  would  make  her  unjust  to  our  girl.     But  to 


BARBARA   REBELL.  17 

return  to  what  I  was  saying,  and  then,  if  you  do  not 

mind,  Adela,  we  will  not  refer  to  the  subject  again 

The  birth  of  the  child,  I  say,  has  altered  my  feeling, 
much  as  it  seems  to  have  done,  from  what  I  gather 
from  Daman,  that  of  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  I  always  so  disliked  Mr.  Daman,"  his  wife  said 
irrelevantly. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt — I  grant  you  that  he's  not  a  very 
nice  fellow,  but  he's  always  been  fond  of  her,  and  after 
all  he  has  always  stuck  to  us.  There's  no  doubt  as  to 
what  he  says  being  the  truth " 

"  But  Richard — is  not  that  very  unfair  ?  "  Mrs. 
Rebell  spoke  with  a  fire  that  surprised  herself:  "  if,  as 
you  tell  me  now,  you  always  knew  the  truth  concerning 
Bar  and  Lord  Bosworth,  should  what  happened  two 
years  ago  make  such  a  difference  ? " 

"  Till  two  years  ago," — he  spoke  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  her  words, — "  Barbara  held  her  own  completely; 
so  much  is  quite  clear,  and  that,  mind  you,  with  all 
the  world,  even  including  the  strait-laced  folk  about 
Chancton.     I  suppose   people  were  sorry  for  her — for 

them  both,  if  it  comes  to   that Besides,  it  was 

nobody's  business  but  their  own.  Now "  he  hesi- 
tated :  *'  Daman  tells  me  that  she's  absolutely  solitary,  I 
mean  of  course  as  regards  the  women."  He  added 
musingly,  as  if  to  himself,  "  She's  acted  with  extraordi- 
nary, with  criminal  folly  over  this  matter." 

"  Then  she  is  being  treated  as  we  should  have  been 
treated, — indeed  as  we  were,  by  most  people,  during 
the  short  time  we  stayed  in  England  eight  years 
ago?" 

"  I  do  not  think,"  Mr.  Rebell  spoke  very  coldly, 
"  that  your  comparison,  Adela,  holds  good.  But  now, 
to-day,  the  point  is  this  :  am  I  to  be  compelled  to 
receive,  and  indeed  to  countenance,  Barbara  Sampiero 

B.R.  C 


i8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

and  her  lover  ?  and  further,  am  I  to  allow  my  wife  to  do 
so  ?  Do  you  suppose  " — he  spoke  with  a  sudden  fierce- 
ness,— "that  either  Barbara  or  Boswortli  would  have 
ever  thought  of  doing  what  you  tell  me  they  have 
actually  written  and  proposed  doing,  to-day,  had  our 
own  circumstances  been  different  ?  Barbara  may  be 
— nay  she  is,  as  you  very  properly  point  out — a  noble 
and  generous  creature,  but  in  this  matter,  my  dear 
Adela,  she's  behaving  ungenerously ;  she's  exacting  a 
price,  and  a  heavy  price,  for  her  past  kindness.  P>ut  it 
is  one  which  after  to-day  I  shall  take  care  she  shall  not 
be  in  a  position  to  exact. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  slowly, "  we  shall  of  course  have  to 
give  up  this  house,"  hiseyesglanced  with  a  certain  affec- 
tion round  the  room  which  had  always  pleased  his  taste. 
''Our  requirements,"  he  concluded,  "have become  very 
simple.  We  might  travel,  and  show  our  child  something 
of  the  world." 

A  light  leapt  into  his  wife's  eyes;  oh!  what  joy  it 
would  be  to  leave  St.  Germains,  to  become  for  a  while 
nomadic,  but  with  a  sigh  she  returned  to  the  present. 
"  And  to-day,  what  is  to  happen  to-day,  Richard  ? 
There  is  no  time  to  stop  them — they  will  be  here  in 
two  or  three  hours." 

Mr.  Rebell  remained  silent  for  some  moments,  and 
then  :  "  Not  even  to  please  you,"  he  said,  "  can  I  bring 
myself  to  receive  them.  But  I  admit  the  force  of  what 
you  said  just  now.  Therefore,  if  you  care  to  do  so,  stay 
— stay  and  make  what  excuse  for  my  absence  seems 
good  to  you.  Bosworth  will  know  the  reason  well 
enough,  unless  he's  more  lost  to  a  sense  of  decency 
than  I  take  him  to  be.  But  Bar — poor  dear  Bar,"  a 
note  of  unwilling  tenderness  crept  into  his  cold  voice, 
"will  doubtless  believe  you  if  you  tell  her,  what  indeed 
is  true  enough,  that   I  have  an  important  engagement 


BARBARA   REBELL.  19 

to-day  with  Daman,  and  that,  if  she  cares  to  see  me,  I 

will  come  and  see  her  before  she  leaves  Paris " 

The  speaker  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  He 
bent  down  and  touched  Barbara's  forehead  with  his  dry 
lips.  "  I  trust,"  he  said  in  his  thin  voice,  "  that  you 
will  have  a  pleasant  birthday.  I  will  bring  you  back  a 
box  of  chocolates  from  Marquis',"  and  then,  without 
waiting  to  hear  the  child's  murmured  thanks,  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  was  gone.  Barbara  did  not  see  her 
father  again  till  the  next  morning. 

It  was  early  afternoon,  and  the  fair-haired  English- 
woman and  her  little  dark,  eager-eyed  daughter  were 
sitting  out  on  the  rose-wreathed  balcony  of  the  Villa 
d'Arcole.  Mrs.  Rebell  was  very  silent.  She  was 
longing  for,  and  3'et  dreading,  the  coming  meeting  with 
one  she  had  not  seen  since  they  had  parted,  with  tears, 
at  Dover,  eight  long  years  before.  Her  restlessness 
affected  the  child,  the  more  so  that  Barbara  knew  that 
her  marraine,  that  is  to  say  in  English,  her  godmother, 
the  source  of  many  beautiful  gifts,  was  at  last  coming 
to  see  them,  and  in  her  short  life  the  rare  coming  of  a 
visitor  had  always  been  an  event. 

Below  the  balcony,  across  the  tiny  formal  garden 
now  bright  with  flowers,  the  broad  sanded  roadway 
stretching  between  the  Villa  d'Arcole  and  the  high  cool 
screen  formed  by  the  forest  trees,  was  flecked  with  gay 
groups  of  children  and  their  be-ribboned  nurses, 
St.  Germains  was  beginning  to  awake  from  its  noon- 
day torpor,  and  leisurely  walkers,  elegant  women 
whose  crinolines  produced  a  curious  giant  blossom-like 
effect,  elderly  bourgeois  dressed  in  rather  fantastic 
summer  garb,  officers  in  brilliant  uniforms — for  in 
those  days  Imperial  France  was  a  land  of  brilliancy 
and    of    uniforms — were   already    making    their    way 

c  2 


20  BARBARA   REBELL. 

to  the  Terrace,  ever  the  centre  of  the  town's  life 
and   gossip. 

Suddenly  there  came  on  Barbara's  listening  ears  a 
sound  of  wheels,  of  sharply  ringing  hoofs,  of  musical 
jingling  of  harness  bells.  Several  of  the  strollers  below 
stayed  their  footsteps,  and  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Rcbell 
became  aware  that  before  the  iron-wrought  gilt  gates 
of  the  villa  there  had  drawn  up  the  prettiest  and  most 
fantastic  of  equipages,  while  to  the  child's  eager  eyes 
it  seemed  as  if  Cinderella's  fairy  chariot  stood  below ! 

Had  Richard  Rebell  been  standing  by  his  wife, 
he  would  doubtless  have  seen  something  slightly 
absurd,  and  in  any  case  undignified,  in  the  sight  pre- 
sented by  the  low,  pale  blue  victoria,  drawn  by  four 
white  horses  ridden  by  postillions,  two  of  whom  now 
stood,  impassive  as  statues,  each  at  one  of  the  leaders' 
heads.  I3ut  to  Richard  Rebell's  little  daughter  the 
prctt}  sight  brought  with  it  nothing  but  pure  delight ; 
and  for  a  few  moments  she  was  scarcely  aware  of  the 
two  figures  who  sat  back  on  the  white  leather  cushions. 
And  yet  one  of  these  figures,  that  of  the  woman,  was 
quite  as  worthy  of  attention  as  the  equipage  which 
served  to  frame  her  peculiar  and  striking  beauty,  and 
so  evidently  thought  the  small  crowd  which  had  quickly 
gathered  to  gaze  at  what  had  been  at  once  recognised 
as  a  carriage  from  the  Imperial  stables. 

Dowered,  perhaps  to  her  own  misfortune,  with  a  keen 
dramatic  instinct,  and  a  rather  riotous  love  of  colour, 
Barbara  Sampiero  had  chosen  to  dress,  as  it  were,  for 
the  part.  Her  costume,  a  deep  purple  muslin  gown, 
flounced,  as  was  the  fashion  that  spring,  from  hem  to 
waist,  her  cross-over  puffed  bodice,  and  short-frilled 
sleeves,  the  broad  Leghorn  hat  draped  with  a  scarf  of 
old  lace  fastened  down  with  amethyst  bees,  and  the 
pale  blue  parasol  matching  exactly  in  tint  the  colour 


BARBARA   REBELL.  21 

of  the  carriage  in  which  she  was  sitting,  recalled  a 
splendid  tropical  flower. 

A  certain  type  of  feminine  beauty  has  about  it  a 
luminous  quality ;  such  was  that  of  Barbara  Sampiero, 
now  in  full  and  glowing  perfection  :  some  of  its  radiance 
due  to  the  fact  that  as  yet  Time — she  was  not  far  from 
forty — had  spared  her  any  trace  of  his  swift  passage. 
The  involuntary  homage  of  those  about  her  proved 
that  she  was  still  as  attractive  as  she  had  been  as  a 
younger  woman  ;  her  beauty  had  become  to  her  an  all- 
important  asset,  and  she  guarded  and  tended  it  most 
jealously. 

Her  companion  was  also,  though  in  a  very  different 
way,  well  worthy  of  attention.  Before  stepping  out  of 
the  carriage  he  stood  up  for  a  moment,  and,  as  he  looked 
about  him  with  amused  and  leisurely  curiosity,  the 
spectators  at  once  recognised  in  him  a  typical  English- 
man of  the  ruling  class.  Every  detail  of  his  dress, 
the  very  cut  of  his  grizzled  hair  and  carefully  trimmed 
whiskers,  aroused  the  envy  of  those  Frenchmen  among 
the  crowd  who  judged  themselves  to  be  of  much  his 
own  age.  He  had  not  retained,  as  had  done  his  con- 
temporary and  one-time  friend,  Richard  Rebell,  the 
figure  of  his  youth,  but  he  was  still  a  fine,  vigorous- 
looking  man,  with  a  bearing  full  of  dignity  and  ease. 

As  his  eyes  quickly  noted  the  unchanged  aspect  of  the 
place  where  he  found  himself,  he  reminded  himself, 
with  some  quickening  of  his  pulses,  that  no  Enghshman 
living  had  a  right  to  feel  in  closer  touch  with  the 
romance  of  this  French  town.  In  the  great  grim 
castle — so  unlike  the  usual  smiling  chateau — which  rose 
to  the  right  behind  the  Villa  d'Arcole,  his  own  Stuart 
forbears  had  spent  their  dignified  exile.  More,  he  him- 
self had  deliberately  chosen  to  associate  the  most 
romantic  and  enchanting  episode  of  a  life  which  had  not 


22  BARBARA   REBELL. 

been  lacking  in  enchanting  and  romantic  episodes,  v/ith 
this  same  place,  with  St.  Germains.  He  and  Madame 
Sampiero  had  good  reason  to  gaze  as  they  were  both 
doing  at  that  famous  hostelry,  the  Pavilion  Henri  IV., 
of  which  they  could  see,  embowered  in  trees,  the 
picturesque  buildings  overhanging  the  precipitous 
slopes. 

Julian  Fitzjames  Berwick,  Lord  Bosworth  of 
Leicester,  had  always  made  it  his  business  to  extract  the 
utmost  out  of  life.  He  had  early  promised  himself  that, 
whoever  else  were  debarred  from  looking  over  the  hedge, 
he  would  belong  to  the  fortunate  few  who  are  privileged 
to  walk  through  the  gate.  So  far  he  had  been  wonder- 
fully successful  in  attaining  the  various  goals  he  had 
set  himself  to  attain.  This  had  been  true  even  of  his 
public  life,  for  he  had  known  how  to  limit  his  ambitions 
to  what  was  easily  possible,  never  taking  undue  risks, 
and  ever  keeping  himself  free  from  any  connection  with 
forlorn  hopes.  This  perhaps  was  why  this  fortunate  man 
was  one  of  the  very  few  statesmen  in  whom  his  fellow 
countrymen  felt  a  comfortable  confidence.  All  parties 
were  apt  to  express  regret  when  he  was  out  of  office, 
and  though  he  was  no  longer  in  any  sense  a  young  man, 
it  was  believed  that  he  had  a  future  or  several  futures 
before  him. 

Many  of  Lord  Bosworth's  contemporaries  and  friends 
would  have  shrunk  from  taking  part  in  such  an  expedi- 
tion as  that  of  to-day,  but  the  intelligent  epicurean  had 
so  arranged  every  detail  of  this  visit  to  Richard  Rebell 
and  his  wife,  that  it  must  bring,  at  any  rate  to  himself, 
more  pleasure  than  annoyance.  Still,  he  was  not  sorry 
to  stand  for  a  moment  enjoying  the  pretty,  bright  scene, 
the  wonderful  view,  and  his  own  and  his  beautiful 
companion's  sentimental  memories,  before  going  in  to 
face,  as  he  fully  believed  he  was  about  to  do,  the  man 


BARBARA   REBELL.  23 

who  was   at    once    Barbara    Sampiero's    unfortunate 
kinsman  and  his  own  former  intimate. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Rebell  had  made  her  way  swiftly 
down  the  house  :  hurriedly  she  herself  opened  the  front 
door,  waving  back  the  French  servant :  then,  when  she 
saw  the  little  crowd  gathered  round  the  gate,  she 
retreated  nervously,  leaving  her  two  guests  to  make 
their  way  alone  up  the  geranium-bordered  path.  But 
once  they  had  passed  through  into  the  cool  dim  hall, 
once  the  light  and  brightness  were  shut  out,  then  with  a 
cry  of  welcome  Adela  Rebell  put  her  arms  round  the 
other  woman's  neck,  and  with  a  certain  shy  cordiality 
gave  her  hand  to  the  man  whose  coming  to-day  had 
caused  Richard  Rebell  to  be  absent  from  this  meeting, 
and  this  although,  Mrs.  Rebell  eagerly  reminded  herself, 
Lord  Bosworth  also  had  been  true  and  kind  during  that 
bitter  time  eight  years  ago. 

At  last  all  four,  for  little  Barbara  was  clinging  to  her 
mother's  skirts,  made  their  way  up  the  narrow  turning 
staircase,  and  so  into  the  long,  sparsely  furnished 
drawing-room,  full  of  grateful  quiet  and  coolness  to  the 
two  who  had  just  enjoyed  a  hot  if  a  triumphal  drive 
from  Paris. 

At  once  Madame  Sampiero  sat  down  and  drew  the 
child  to  her  knee:  "And  so,"  she  said,  in  a  deep 
melodious  voice,  "this  is  little  Barbara  Rebell  ?  my  god- 
daughter and  namesake !  For  do  you  know,  my  child, 
that  I  also  am  a  Barbara  Rebell  ?  One  always  keeps,  it 
seems,  a  right  to  one's  name,  and  lately — yes  really, 
Adela,  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  going  back  to 
mine !  "  Then,  with  a  quick  change  of  voice,  her  eyes 
sweeping  the  room  and  the  broad  balcony,  "But  where 
is  Richard  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Surely  you  received  my 
letter  ?     You  knew  that  I  was  coming,  to-day  ?  " 

But  she  accepted  with    great    good  humour  Mrs. 


24  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Rebell's  faltered  explanation,  perhaps  secretly  relieved 
that  there  need  be  no  meeting  with  the  cousin  who 
owed  her  so  much,  and  who  yet,  she  had  reason  to 
believe,  judged  with  rather  pitiless  severity  the  way  she 
had  chosen  to  fashion  her  life. 

Meanwhile,  Lord  Bosworth  and  little  Barbara  had 
gone  out  on  the  balcony,  and  there,  with  the  tact  for 
which  he  had  long  been  famed,  and  which  had  contri- 
buted not  a  little  to  his  successes  when  Foreign  Minister, 
he  soon  made  friends  with  the  shy,  reserved  child. 

But  Madame  Sampiero  took  no  advantage  of  the 
tete-a-tete  so  thoughtfully  arranged  by  her  friend ; 
instead,  but  looking  intently  the  while  into  AdjJa 
Rebell's  sensitive  face,  she  dwelt  wholly  on  the  imme- 
diate present ;  telling  of  her  stay  in  Paris,  the  first  for 
many  years ;  of  her  visit  to  St.  Cloud — in  a  few  satirical 
sentences  she  described  to  her  silent  listener  the 
interview  with  the  Empress  Eugenie  amid  the  almost 
theatrical  splendour  of  the  summer  palace.  But  the 
gay  voice  altered  in  quality  as  she  asked  the  quick  ques- 
tion, *'  I  suppose  Richard  reads  the  Figaro  ?  Did  he 
tell  you  of  that  reference  to — to  my  visit  to  St.  Cloud  ? " 
As  her  companion  bent  her  head,  she  added :  **  It  has 
annoyed  us  so  very  much  1  I  am  sorry  that  Richard 
saw  it — I  cannot  imagine  how  they  became  aware  of 
my  maiden  name,  or  why  they  brought  in  that  reference 
to  Corsica!  " 

Mrs.  Rebell,  the  kindest,  least  critical  of  women,  yet 
felt  a  certain  doubt  as  to  whether  in  this  matter  her 
cousin  was  speaking  the  truth,  but  Madame  Sampiero 
had  already  dismissed  the  subject  with  an  impatient 
sigh.  She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  walked  to  and  fro, 
examining  with  apparent  interest  the  fine  pieces  of 
First  Empire  furniture  at  that  time  so  completely  out 
of  fashion  as  to  appear    curiosities.      Then   she   said 


BARBARA   REBELL.  25 

suddenly,  "Surely  we  might  go  out  of  doors.  May 
little  Barbara  take  Julian  to  the  church  where  James  II. 
is  buried  ?  He  is  anxious  to  see  the  inscription  the 
Queen  has  had  placed  there.  Meanwhile  you  and  I 
might  wait  for  them  on  the  Terrace  ;  I  seem  to  have  so 
much  to  tell  you,  and  you  know  we  cannot  stay  much 
more  than  an  hour,"  and,  as  she  noted  remorsefully 
Mrs.  Rebell's  flush  of  keen  disappointment,  she  added, 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  in  my  letter  that  Julian  was  anxious 
to  see  the  little  place  near  here  belonging  to  James 
Berwick,  I  mean  the  hunting  lodge  bought  years  ago 
by  Julian's  brother  ?    However,  there  may  be  no  time  for 

that,  as  we  are  going  on  to  St.  Cloud,  and  also But 

I  will  ask  you  about  that  later." 

Once  out  of  doors,  leaning  over  the  parapet  of  the 
Terrace,  gazing  down  on  the  wide  plain  below,  and 
following  abstractedly  the  ribbon-like  windings  of  the 
river,  Madame  Sampiero  at  last  touched  on  more 
intimate  matters,  on  that  which  had  been  in  both  her 
own  and  her  companion's  minds  ever  since  Mrs.  Rebell 
had  drawn  her,  with  such  eager  hands,  into  the  hall  of 
the  villa. 

"  If  Richard  had  been  here,"  she  said,  "  I  could  not 
have  spoken  to  you  of  my  child — of  my  darling  Julia. 
And  though  I'm  sorry  not  to  see  him,  I'm  glad  to  have 
this  opportunity  of  telling  you,  Adela,  that  I  regret 
nothing,  and  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  any  reason 
to  be  ashamed."  As  the  other  looked  at  her  with 
deeply  troubled  eyes,  she  continued  :  "  Of  course  I 
know  you  think  I  have  acted  very  wrongly.  But  in 
these  matters  every  woman  must  judge  for  her  own 
self  After  all,  that  man  over  there," — she  waved  her 
hand  vaguely  as  if  indicating  some  far  distant  spot,  and 
Mrs.   Rebell,  slight  though  was  her  sense  of  humour, 


26  BARBARA   REBELL. 

felt  a  flash  of  melancholy  amusement  as  she  realised 
that  the  place  so  indicated  meant  the  Corsican  village 
where  Napoleone  Sampiero  was  leading  a  most  agree- 
able life  on  the  income  which  he  wrested  only  too  easily 
from  his  English  wife, — "  That  man,  I  say,  has  no 
claim  on  me  !  If  there  came  any  change  in  the  French 
divorce  laws  he  could  easily  be  brought  to  do  what  I 

wish Oh  Adcla,  if  you  only  knew  what  a  difference 

my  child  has  made  to  me, — and  in  every  way  !  " 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence  between  them. 
Adela  Rebell  opened  her  lips — but  no  words  would 
come,  and  so  at  last,  timidly  and  tenderly  she  laid  her 
hand  on  the  other  woman's,  and  Barbara  again  spoke. 
**  I  used  to  feel — who  would  not  have  done  so  in  my 
position  ? — how  little  real  part  I  played  in  Julian's  Ufe. 
The  knowledge  that  Arabella  and  James  Berwick  were 
to  him  almost  like  his  own  children  was,  I  confess, 
painful  to  me,  but  now  that  he  knows  what  it  is  to  have 
a  child  of  his  own — ah,  Adela,  I  wish  you  could  see 
them  together !  Only  to-day  he  said  to  me :  *  I  love 
you,  Barbara,  but  I  adore  our  Julia !  '  I  used  to  think 
he  would  never  care  to  spend  much  of  the  year  in  the 
country  ;  but  now,  since  the  child  came,  he  seems  quite 
content  to  stay  for  long  weeks  together  at  Fletchings." 

"  And  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Rebell, — she  did  not 
know  how  to  bring  herself  to  speak  of  little  Julia — 
**  I  suppose  that  James  and  Arabella — how  well  I 
remember  them  as  small  children — are  a  great  deal 
with  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  for  the  first  time  during  the  conversation 
Madame  Sampiero  reddened  deeply.  "  Arabella  has 
been  taken  possession  of  by  her  mother's  people.  They 
have  not  been  quite  kind  about — about  the  whole 
matter— and  I  think  at  first  Julian  felt  it  a  good  deal. 
But  after  all  it  would  have  been  rather  awkward  for  him 


BARBARA  REBELL.  27 

to  have  charge  of  a  niece  of  eighteen.  As  to  James 
Berwick,  of  course  he  comes  and  goes,  and  I'm  told  he's 
prodigiously  clever.  He  doesn't  grow  better-looking  as 
he  grows  older.  Sometimes  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  ugly  little  fellow  is  Julian's  nephew  !  " 

"And  Jane  Turke  ?  " 

"  Oh  1  I've  left  her  and  Ahck  McKirdy  at  Chancton, 
in  charge  of  Julia,  of  course." 

**  Will  you  remember  me  to  him — I  mean  to  Doctor 
McKirdy, — you  know  I  always  liked  him  in  old 
days." 

"  Yes,  a  very  good  fellow  !  Of  course  I'll  tell  him. 
He'll  feel  very  flattered,  I'm  sure,  that  you  remember 
him." 

**  And  the  Priory — I  wish  stones  could  feel  I  For  then, 
Bar,  I  should  ask  you  to  give  my  love  to  the  Priory — 
I  do  so  cherish  that  place !     Sometimes  I  dream  that  we, 

Richard  and  I,  are  there,  as  we  used  to  be  long  ago " 

Mrs.  Rebell's  voice  broke. 

Madame  Sampiero  put  her  hand  through  her  com- 
panion's arm,  and  slowly  they  began  to  pace  up  and 
down.  **  As  I  told  you,"  she  said,  rather  suddenly, 
"  we  cannot  stay  long,  for  we  are  driving  round  by  St. 
Cloud,  and — and,  Adela,  I  have  a  great  favour  to  ask 
of  you" —  there  came  an  eager,  coaxing  note  into  the 
low,  full  voice.  "  May  I  take  little  Barbara  too  ?  I 
mean  with  us  to  St.  Cloud  ?  The  Prince  Imperial  is 
giving  a  children's  party.  Look,  I  have  brought  her  a 
special  invitation  all  to  herself!  "  and  from  her  pocket 
— for  those  were  the  days  of  voluminous  pockets — the 
speaker  drew  a  small  card  on  which  was  written  in  gold 
letters,  '*  Le  Prince  Imperial  a  I'honneur  d'inviter 
Mademoiselle  Barbara  Rebell  a  gouter.  St.  Cloud, 
9  Juin,  1870."  "  I  told  the  Empress,"  she  added 
eagerly,  '*  that  I  should  like  to  bring  my  god-daughter 


28  BARBARA   REBELL. 

iind  namesake,  and  she  made  the  boy — he  is  such  a 
well-mannered  little  fellow — write  Barbara's  name  on 
the  card." 

"  Dear  Bar,  it  was  more  than  kind  of  you.  But  I 
fear — I  know,  that  Richard  would  not  allow  it !  " 

"  But  Adela — if  I  take  all  the  blame  !  Surely  you 
would  not  wish  the  child  to  miss  such  a  delightful 
experience  ?  "  Madame  Sampiero  spoke  in  a  mortified 
tone,  but  Adela  Rcbell  scarcely  heard  the  words  ;  to 
her  the  proposal  did  not  even  admit  of  discussion.  "  I 
cannot  allow  what  Richard  would  certainly  disap- 
prove," she  said  ;  and  then,  with  the  eager  wish  of 
softening  her  refusal,  "  You  do  not  realise,  Barbara, 
my  poor  Richard's  state  of  mind.  We  go  nowhere, 
we  know  nobody  ;  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  I 
persuaded  him  to  allow  the  Protestant  banker  to  bring 
me  in  touch  with  a  few  people  who  have  children  of 
our  child's  own  age.  More  than  once  we  have  been 
offered  introductions  which  would  have  brought  us  in 
contact  with  the  Tuileries  and  with  St.  Cloud,  but 
Richard  feels  that  in  the  circumstances  we  cannot  live 
too  quietly.  And  on  the  whole,"  she  hastened  to  add, 
"  I  agree  with  him." 

Before  another  word  could  be  uttered  on  either  side, 
the  two  oddly  contrasted  figures  of  Lord  Bosworth 
and  his  small  companion  were  seen  hastening  towards 
them.  The  man  and  the  child  had  already  become 
good  friends,  and,  as  they  drew  near  to  Madame 
Sampiero  and  Mrs.  Rebell,  little  Barbara,  a  charming 
figure  in  her  white  muslin  frock,  blue  sash  and  large 
frilled  hat,  ran  forward  with  what  was  for  her  most 
unusual  eagerness  and  animation. 

**  Oh  mamma,"'  she  cried,  "have  you  heard?  The 
Prince  Imperial  has  invited  me  to  his  gouter,  and  my 
marraine  and  this  gentleman  are  going  to  take  me  to 


BARBARA   REBELL.  ag 

St.  Cloud  !  There  is  a  little  seat  in  the  carriage  which 
can  be  let  down."  Her  voice  wavered ;  perhaps  she 
had  already  become  aware  of  her  mother's  look  of 
utter  dismay,  "  You  know  that  Marthe  PoUain  went 
last  year,  and  the  little  Prince  danced  with  her — I  do 
wonder  if  he  will  dance  with  me  !  " 

She  stopped,  a  little  out  of  breath,  and  Madame 
Sampiero  turned  with  a  half-humorous,  half-depre- 
cating look  at  her  cousin,  "  Come,  Adela,"  she  said, 
"  surely  you  would  never  have  the  heart  to  refuse  those 
pleading  eyes  ?  " 

But  the  words  seemed  to  nei*ve  Mrs.  Rebell  to  instant 
decision.  "  No,  Barbara,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  tone. 
"  My  poor  little  girl — I  cannot  allow  you  to  accept  this 
invitation.  It  would  make  your  father  very  very 
angry."  And  then,  as  the  child,  submitting  at  once,  to 
Bosworth's  admiring  surprise,  turned  away,  the  tears 
running  down  her  cheeks,  the  mother  added,  even  more 
really  distressed  than  was  the  nervous,  excited  little 
girl  herself:  "  I  am  so  very  sorry,  Barbara,  but  we  will 
try  to  think  of  something  to  do  to-morrow  which  you 
will  like  almost  as  well." 

Madame  Sampiero  bent  towards  the  child.  **  Never 
mind,  little  Barbara,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  a 
little,  **  only  wait  till  you  see  me  again,  I  will  bring 
you  the  sweetest  of  playfellows  !  And  some  day  I  will 
myself  persuade  your  father  to  let  me  take  you  to  a 
real  ball,  at  the  Tuileries  !  "  Turning  to  Mrs.  Rebell, 
she  added  :  "  Julian  and  I  both  agree  that  in  time,  say 
in  six  or  eight  years,  I  should  do  very  well  to  take  some 
small  chateau  near  Paris,  and  spend  there  part  of  each 
year.  Julia  will  then  be  old  enough  to  have  masters, 
and  I  am  sure,  indeed  we  both  think," — she  turned  to 
the  impassive  man  now  walking  slowly  by  her  side, — 
"  that   I    had    better    really   try    and    make    a    half 


30  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Frenchwoman   of  her,  and    perhaps    ultimately,  who 
knows,  settle  her  in  France!" 

Mrs.  Rebcll  suddenly  laughed.  "  Oh  Barbara,"  she 
said,  "  how  fond  you  have  always  been  of  making  plans, 
of  looking  forward  !     Surely  this  is  rather  premature  ?  " 

Madame  Sampicro  smiled.  "English  people,"  she 
said,  quickly,  "don't  give  half  enough  thought  to  the 
future.  But,  Adcla,  I  was  not  only  thinking  of  my 
Julia,  but  also  of  your  little  Barbara.  Richard  cannot 
mean  her  always  to  lead  a  cloistered  life.  In  eight 
years  she  will  be  grown-up,  eager  to  see  something  of 
the  world.  Where  could  she  make  her  debut  so  delight- 
fully as  at  the  Tuileries?  Well,  little  Barbara  "—and 
again  she  bent  over  the  child — "  look  forward  to  the 
time  when  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  play  my  rdU  of 
fairy  godmother,  and  so  introduce  you  to  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  delightful  Court 
in  the  world  !  " 

The  group  of  walkers  turned,  and  slowly  they  made 
their  way  back  to  the  Villa  d'Arcole.  Then,  after  long 
clinging  leave-taking,  Mrs.  Rebell  and  Barbara,  both 
with  bitter  tears  in  their  eyes,  watched  the  fairy-like 
equipage  disappear  down  the  sanded  road  leading  to  the 
Grande  Place,  and  so  towards  the  broad  highway  which 
would  bring  it  ultimately  to  St.  Cloud. 

When  the  carriage  was  clear  of  the  town,  Bosworth, 
laying  his  large  powerful  hand  on  that  of  his  companion, 
as  if  to  deaden  the  full  meaning  of  his  words,  said 
suddenly,  "  I  suppose,  Barbara,  that  you  never  had 
the  slightest  doubt  as  to  Richard  Rebell's  complete 


mnocence 


"Never I"  she  said  sharply.  "Never  the  slightest 
doubt !  In  fact  I  would  far  rather  believe  myself  guilty 
of  cheating  at  cards  than  I  would  Richard.     I  think  it 


BARBARA   REBELL.  31 

was  an  infamous  accusation  !  Why,  surely  you,  Julian, 
felt  and  feel  the  same  ?  "  She  looked  at  him  with  real 
distress  and  anger  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  certainly  felt  the  same 
at  the  time.  Still,  his  present  way  of  going  on  looks 
very  odd.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  of  an  innocent 
man.  Why  should  he  compel  his  wife  to  lead  such  a 
life  as  that  she  evidently  does  lead  at  St.  Germains  ?  " 

"  But  how  young  she  still  looks,"  said  Madame 
Sampiero  eagerly.  "  I  really  think  she's  as  pretty  as 
ever  !  " 

"  H'm  !  "  he  said.  "  Rather  faded— at  least  so  I 
thought.  And  then, — another  notion  of  Richard's  no 
doubt, — there  seemed  something  wrong  about  her  dress." 
Barbara  Sampiero  laughed.  **  You  are  quite  right," 
she  said,  "  but  how  odd  that  you  should  have  noticed 
it !  Richard  won't  allow  her  to  wear  a  crinoline !  Isn't 
he  absurd  ?  But  she  hasn't  changed  a  bit.  She  loves 
him  as  much  as  ever — nay,  more  than  ever,  and  that, 
Julian," — again  their  hands  clasped, — "is,  you  must 
admit,  very  rare  and  touching  after  all  that  has  come 
and  gone." 

But  each  of  the  speakers  felt  that  this  visit  to  St. 
Germains  had  been  vaguely  disappointing,  that  it  had 
not  yielded  all  they  had  hoped  it  would  do. 

Barbara  Sampiero  made  up  her  mind  that  before 
leaving  Paris  she  would  come  again,  and  come  alone. 
She  did  not  carry  out  her  good  resolution,  and  many 
long  years  were  to  pass  by  before  she  and  her  god- 
daughter met  again.  And  to  both,  by  the  time  of  that 
second  meeting,  St.  Germains  had  become  a  place 
peopled  with  sad  ghosts  and  poignant  memories  which 
both  strove  rather  to  forget  than  to  remember. 

End  of  the  Prologue. 


CHAPTER  I. 

•*Mon  pauvre  coeur  maladroit,  mon  coeur  plein  de  rdvolte  et 
d'espdrance.  .  .  ." 

'•  The  past  is  death's,  the  future  is  thine  own." 

Shelley. 

Fifteen  years  had  gone  by  since  the  eventful  birth- 
day and  meeting  at  St.  Germains. 

As  Barbara  Rebell,  still  Barbara  Rebell,  though  she 
had  been  a  wife,  a  most  unhappy  wife,  for  six  years, 
stepped  from  the  small  dark  vestibule  into  the  dimly- 
lighted  hall  of  Chancton  Priory,  her  foot  slipped  on  the 
floor ;  and  she  would  have  fallen  had  not  a  man's  hand, 
small  but  curiously  bony  and  fleshless,  grasped  her 
right  arm,  while,  at  the  same  moment,  a  deep  voice 
from  out  the  darkness  exclaimed,  "  A  good  omen  !  So 
stumbled  the  Conqueror !  " 

The  accent  in  which  the  odd  words  were  uttered 
would  have  told  a  tale  as  to  the  speaker's  hard-bitten 
nationality  to  most  English-speaking  folk :  not  so  to 
the  woman  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  Yet  they 
smote  on  her  ear  as  though  laden  with  welcome,  for 
they  recalled  the  voice  of  a  certain  Andrew  Johnstone, 
the  Scotch  Governor  of  the  West  Indian  island  of 
Santa  Maria,  whose  brotherly  kindness  and  unobtru^ 
sive  sympathy  had  been  more  comfortable  to  her,  in 
a  moment  of  great  humiliation  and  distress,  than  his 
English  wife's  more  openly  expressed  concern  and  more 
eagerly  offered  friendship. 

B.R.  D 


34  BARBARA   REBELL. 

And  then,  as  the  stranger  advanced,  hesitatinr^ly,  into 
the  hall,  she  found  herself  confronted  by  an  odd,  indeed 
an  amazing  figure,  which  yet  also  brought  a  quick  sense 
of  being  at  last  in  a  dear  familiar  place  offering  both 
welcome  and  shelter.  For  she  was  at  once  aware  that 
this  must  be  the  notable  Jane  Turke,  Madame  Sampiero's 
housekeeper,  one  tc  v/hiilii  Barbara's  own  mother  had 
often  referred  when  telling  her  little  daughter  of  the 
delights  of  Chancton  Priory — of  the  Sussex  country' house 
to  which,  when  dying,  the  thoughts  of  Richard  Rebell's 
wife  seemed  ever  turning  with  sick  longing  and  regret. 

Mrs.  Turke  wore  a  travesty  of  the  conventional  house- 
keeper's costume.  There,  to  be  sure,  were  the  black 
apron  and  lace  cap  and  the  bunch  of  jingling  keys,  but 
the  watered  silk  ofwliich  the  gown  was  made  was  of 
bright  yellow,  and  across  its  wearer's  ample  bosom  was 
spread  an  elaborate  parure  of  topazes  set  in  filigree  gold, 
a  barbaric  ornament  which,  however,  did  not  seem  out 
of  place  on  the  remarkable-looking  old  lady.  Two  ear- 
rings, evidently  belonging  to  the  same  set,  had  been 
mounted  as  pins,  and  gleamed  on  the  black  lace  partly 
covering  Mrs.  Turke's  grey  hair,  which  was  cut  in  a 
straight  fringe  above  the  shrewd,  twinkling  eyes,  Roman 
nose,  and  firm,  well-shaped  mouth  and  chin. 

For  a  few  moments  the  housekeeper  held,  as  it  were, 
the  field  to  herself:  she  curtsied  twice,  but  there  was 
nothing  servile  or  menial  about  the  salutation,  and  each 
time  the  yellow  gown  swept  the  stone-flagged  floor  she 
uttered  the  words,  "  Welcome,  Ma'am,  to  Chancton," 
running  her  eyes  quickly  the  v.hile  over  the  slender 
stranger  whose  coming  might  bring  such  amazing 
changes  to  the  Priory. 

Then,  as  Mrs.  Rebell,  half  smiling,  put  out  her  hand, 
the  old  woman — for,  in  spite  of  her  look  of  massive 
strength   Mrs.  Turke  was  by  now  an  old  woman — said 


HAKHARA    REBF.LL.  35 

more  naturally,  "Von  ilon't  remember  Jane  Tnrko, 
Ma'am,  bnt  Jane  Tnrla^  remembers  you,  when  yon  was 
lillie  Missy,  and  your  dear  Mamma  used  to  bring  you 
here  as  a  babby." 

Mrs.  Tnrke's  voice  was  (]nite  amazinp;ly  unlike  (hat 
wliii-h  had  nlleicd,  elose  to  the  detor,  the  fir\\  word;  o{ 
what  Harbaia  had  felt  to  be  a  far  sineerer  weleome. 
It  was  essentially  a  made-up,  artiiieial  voice, — one  to 
which  (Mdy  (he  oM-fashioned  but  expressive  word  "gen- 
teel" could  possibly  apply  :  an  iut(>lHi;ent  listener  could 
not  but  feel  certain  that  Mrs.  Turke  would  be  bound  to 
speak,  if  under  stress  of  emotion,  in  quite  other  accents. 

A  muttered  exclamation,  a  growl  from  that  other 
presence  who  still  stood  apart,  hidden  in  the  deep 
shadows  cast  by  the  music  gallery  which  stretched 
across  the  hall  just  above  the  head  of  the  little  group, 
seemed  to  nerve  the  housekeeper  to  a  fresh  effort :  "  This 
gentleman,  Ma'am,"  she  cried,  waving  a  fat  be-rini;iHl 
hand  towarils  [he  ilarkness,  "is  Doctor  McKirdy.  He 
also  knew  your  dear  Mamma,  and  is  very  pleased  to 
see  y<^u  once  more  at  Chancton  PiicMy." 

h'rom  bchiiul  Barbara  Kebell  hnnbered  forth  into  the 
light  antWher  strange  iigure,  a  man  this  time,  clad  in 
livening  diess.  Hut  he  also  seemed  oddly  familiar,  and 
Mrs.  Rebell  knew  him  for  a  certain  Alexander  McKirdy, 
of  whom,  again,  she  had  often  heard  from  her  mother. 
"  I'll  just  thank  ye,"  he  said  harshly,  "to  let  me  utter 
my  own  welcome  to  this  lady.  My  words,  no  doubt, 
will  be  poor  things,  Mrs.  Turke,  compared  to  yours,  but 
they  will  have  the  advantage  of  being  my  own  I  " 

Alexander  McKirdy  was  singularly  ugly, — so  much 
hul  to  bo  conceded  io  his  iMicniics  and  critics,  and  at 
chancton  there  were  many  who  felt  thems(>lves  at 
enmity  with  him,  and  few  who  were  capable  of  realising 
either  the  Scotchman's  intellectual  ability  or  his  entire 


36  BARBARA   REBELL. 

disinterestedness.  Of  fair  height,  he  yet  gave  the 
impression  of  being  short  and  ungainly,  owing  to  the 
huge  size  of  his  head  and  the  disproportionate  breadth 
of  his  shoulders.  His  features  were  rough-hewn  and 
irregular,  only  redeemed  by  a  delicate,  well-shaped 
mouth,  and  penetrating,  not  unkindly  pale  blue  eyes. 
His  hair,  once  bright  red,  now  sandy  grey  streaked  with 
white,  was  always  kept  short,  bristling  round  a  high 
intelligent  forehead,  and  he  was  supposed  to  gratify 
Scotch  economy  by  cutting  it  himself.  He  was  clean- 
shaven, and  his  dress  was  habitually  that  of  a  man  quite 
indifferent  to  his  outward  appearance  ;  like  most  ugly 
and  eccentric-looking  men.  Doctor  McKirdy  appeared 
at  his  best  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  was  compelled 
to  wear  his  ancient  dress  clothes. 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  turned  and  cast  a  long 
searching  look  at  Barbara  Rebell.  **  I  shall  know  if  you 
are  welcome — welcome  to  me,  that  is — better  an  hour 
hence  than  now,  and  better  still  to-morrow  than 
to-day" — but  a  twinkle  in  his  small  bright  eyes  softened 
the  ungraciousness  of  his  words:  **  Now," he  said,  "be 
off,  Mrs.  Turke  !  You've  had  your  innings,  and  said 
your  say,  and  now  comes  my  turn." 

"  You're  never  going  to  take  Mrs.  Rebell  up  to 
Madam  now, — this  very  minute  ? — before  she  has  taken 
off  her  bonnet  ? — or  seen  her  room  ? — or  had  her 
dinner  ? "  but  the  man  whom  she  addressed  with 
such  fussy  zeal  made  no  reply.  Instead,  he  jerked  his 
right  shoulder,  that  as  to  which  Barbara  wondered  if 
it  could  be  higher  than  the  other,  towards  the  shadows 
from  which  he  had  himself  emerged,  and  Mrs.  Turke 
meekly  turned  away,  her  yellow  silk  gown  rustling,  and 
her  barbaric  ornaments  jingling,  as  she  passed  through 
the  swing  door  which  shut  off  the  hall,  where  they  had 
all  three  been  standing,  from  the  commons  of  the  Priory. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  37 

Doctor  McKirdy  lifted  one  of  the  high  lamps,  which 
seemed  to  make  the  darkness  of  the  hall  more  visible, 
in  his  strong,  steady  hands.  Then  he  turned  abruptly 
to  Mrs.  Rebell.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "just  a  word  with 
you,  in  your  private  ear." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  started  walking 
down  the  hall,  Barbara  following  obediently,  while  yet 
finding  time  to  gaze,  half  fearfully,  as  she  went,  at  the 
quivering  grotesque  shadows  flung  by  herself  and  her 
companion  across  the  bare  spaces  of  flagged  floor,  and 
over  the  high-backed  armchairs,  the  Chinese  screen, 
and  the  Indian  cabinets  which  hned  the  walls  on  either 
side  of  the  huge  fire-place. 

At  last  they  stopped  before  a  closed  door — one 
curiously  ornate,  and  heavy  with  gilding.  Doctor 
McKirdy  motioned  to  his  companion  to  open  it,  and  as 
she  did  so  they  passed  through  into  what  was  evidently 
the  rarely-used  drawing-room  of  the  Priory. 

Then,  putting  the  lamp  down  on  the  top  of  a  china 
cabinet,  the  Scotchman  turned  and  faced  his  companion, 
and  with  a  certain  surprise  Mrs.  Rebell  realised  that  he 
was  much  taller  than  herself,  and  that  as  he  spoke  she 
had  to  look  up  into  his  face. 

"I  should  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  no  preamble,  "that 
it  was  I  who  wrote  you  the  letter  bidding  you  come." 

Barbara  shrank  back  :  of  course  she  had  been 
aware, — painfully  aware, — that  the  letter  which  had 
indeed  bidden  her,  not  unkindly,  to  leave  the  West 
Indian  island  where  she  had  spent  her  wretched 
married  life,  and  make  Chancton  Priory  her  home,  had 
not  been  written  by  her  godmother's  own  hand.  The 
knowledge  had  troubled  her,  for  it  implied  that  her 
letter  of  appeal,  that  to  which  this  was  an  answer,  had 
also  been  read  by  alien  eyes. 

"Yes,"  the  doctpr        "ated,  as  though  unwilling  to 


38  BARBARA   REBELL. 

spare  her,  "  I  wrote  it — of  course  at  Madam's  dictation  : 
but  it  was  my  notion  that  when  going  through  London 
you  should  see  Goodchild.  He's  an  honest  man, — that 
is,  honest  as  lawyers  go  !  I  thought  may-be  he  might 
explain  how  matters  are  here — Well,  did  you  see  him?" 

"Yes,  I  went  there  this  morning.  Mr.  Goodchild 
told  me  that  my  godmother  was  paralysed, — but  that,  of 
course,  I  knew  already.  Perhaps  you  have  forgotten 
tnat  you  yourself  long  ago  wrote  and  told  me  of  her 
illness  ?  Mr.  Goodchild  also  explained  to  me  that 
Madame  Sampiero  sees  very  few  people.  He  seemed 
to  doubt " — Barbara's  soft,  steady  voice  suddenly 
trembled — "  whether  she  would  consent  to  see  me ; 
but  I  do  hope " — she  fixed  her  dark  eyes  on  his 
face  with  a  rather  piteous  expression — "  I  do  hope. 
Doctor  McKirdy,  that  she  will  see  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  fash  yourself !  She  is  going  to  see  you, — that 
is,  if  I  just  wish  it !  " 

He  looked  down  at  the  delicate,  sensitive  face  of  the 
young  woman  standing  before  him,  with  an  intent, 
scrutinising  gaze,  allowed  it  to  travel  slowly  downwards 
till  it  seemed  wholly  to  envelop  her,  and  yet  Barbara  felt 
no  offence :  she  realised  that  this  strange  being  only  so  far 
examined  her  outward  shape,  inasmuch  as  he  believed 
it  would  help  him  to  probe  her  character  and  nature. 

In  very  truth  the  doctor's  mind  was  filled  at  the 
present  moment  with  the  thought  of  one  in  every  way 
differing  from  Mrs.  Rebell.  How  would  this  still  young 
creature — Barbara's  look  of  fragility  and  youth  gave  him 
something  of  a  shock — affect  Madame  Sampiero  ? 
That  was  the  question  he  had  set  himself  to  solve  in 
the  next  few  moments. 

"  Are  you  one  of  those,"  he  sfid  suddenly,  and  rather 
hoarsely,  "  who  shrink  from  t)  sight  of  suffering  ? — 
who   abhor    distortion  ? — whc      \nly   sympathise  with 


BARBARA   REBELL.  39 

pain  when  they  themselves  are  in  the  way  to  require 

sympathy? " 

Barbara  hesitated.  His  questions,  flung  at  her  with 
quick  short  words,  compelled  true  answers. 

"  No,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  steady  eyes,  *'  1 
have  not — I  have  never  had — the  feelings  you  describe. 
I  believe  many  people  shrink  from  seeing  suffering,  and 
that    it    is    not    to  their    discredit    that    they   do    so 

shrink "    There  was  a  defiant  note  in  her  voice,  and 

quickly  her  companion  registered  the  challenge,  but  he 
knew  that  this  was  no  time  to  wage  battle. 

Mrs.  Rebell  continued:  "  I  have  never  felt  any  horror 
of  the  sick  and  maimed,  and  I  am  not  given  to  notice, 
with  any  repugnance,  physical  deformity."  Then  she 
stopped,  for  the  strong  lined  face  of  her  companion  had 
become,  as  it  were,  convulsed  with  some  deep-  feeling, 
to  which  she  had  no  clue. 

"Perhaps  I  will  just  tell  you,"  he  said,  "why  I 
believe  Madame  Sampiero  may  see  you,  apart  from  the 
fact  that  she  desires  to  do  so.  Mrs.  Turke  was  quite 
right,"  he  went  on  with  apparent  irrelevancy,  "  I  did 
know  your  mother.     I  had  a  sincere  respect  for  her, 

and "     Again  his  thoughts  seemed  to  take  an  abrupt 

turn.  "  I  suppose  you  realise  that  I  am  Madame 
Sampiero's  medical  attendant, — I  have  no  other  standing 
in  this  house, — oh  no,  none  in  the  world  !  " 

Barbara  divined  the  feeling  which  had  prompted  the 
last  words  to  be  bitter,  bitter. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  gently,  "  that  you  have  been  here 
a  long  time,  and  that  my  mother  " — a  very  charming 
smile  lighted  up  her  sad  face — "  fully  returned  the 
feeling  you  seem  to  have  had  for  her." 

But  Doctor  McKirdy  hardly  seemed  to  hear  the 
words,  for  he  hurried  on, 

"  One  day,  many  years  ago — I  think  before  you  were 


40  BARBARA   REBELL. 

born — your  mother  and  I  went  for  a  walk.  It  was 
about  this  time  of  the  year — that  is  the  time  when 
keepers  and  vermin  are  busy.  We  were  walking,  I 
say,  and  I — young  fool  ! — was  full  of  pride,  for  it  was 
the  first  walk  a  lady  had  ever  deigned  to  take  with  me. 
I  was  uglier,  yes,  and  I  think  even  more  repulsjve- 
looking  than  I  am  now  !  "  he  gave  Barbara  a  quick 
glance  from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  but  she  made 
no  sign  of  dissent,  and  he  smiled,  wryly. 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  I  was  pleased  and  proud,  for  I 
thought  even  more  ill  of  women  than  I  think  now ;  but 
Mrs.  Richard, — that's  what  we  call  her  here,  you  know, 
— was  so  beautiful,  such  a  contrast  to  myself:  just  a 
pretty  doll,  I  took  her  to  be,  and  as  thoughts  are  free, 
looking  at  her  there  walking  along,  I  was  glad  to  know 
that  I  had  all  the  sweets  of  her  company  and  none 
of  the  bitter!  " 

And  still  Barbara  Rebell,  staring  at  him,  astonished 
at  his  words,  felt  no  offence. 

"At  last,"  he  went  on,  "we  reached  the  edge  of  the 
first  down.  I'll  take  you  there  some  day.  And  we 
heard  suddenly  a  piteous  squeal :  it  was  a  puppy,  a 
miserable  little  beastie,  caught  in  a  rabbit  trap.  You've 
never  seen  such  a  thing  ?  Ay,  that's  well,  I  hope 
you  never  will :  since  that  day  you  run  no  risk  of 
doing  so  in  Chancton  Woods !  'Twas  a  sickening 
sight,  one  of  the  doggie's  paws  nearly  off,  and  I  felt 
sick — wanted  to  get  away,  to  fetch  someone  along  from 
the  village.  But  Mrs.  Richard — she  was  the  tenderest 
creature  alive,  remember — never  flinched.  Those  were 
not  the  days  of  gun  ladies,  but  there,  with  me  standing 
by,  foolish,  helpless,  she  put  an  end  to  the  poor  beastie 
— she  put  it  out  of  its  misery — with  my  knife  too. 
Now  that  deserved  the  Humane  Society's  medal,  eh  ? 
I  never  go  by  there  without   thinking  of  it.     It's  a 


BARBARA   REBELL.  41 

pity,"  he  said,  in  abrupt  irrelevant  conclusion,  "that 
you're   not  more   like   her.      I    mean,  as   regards  the 
outer  woman  " — he   added   hastily — "  you    are    dark, 
like  your  father.    Well  now,  I'll  be  caUing  Mrs.  Turke, 
and  she  shall  show  you  your  rooms.     We  thought  you 
would  like  those  Mrs.  Richard  used  to  have  when  she 
came  here.     She  preferred  them    to   those   below,   to 
those  grander  apartments  on  Madam's  floor." 
"  And  when  shall  I  see  my  godmother  ?  " 
Doctor  McKirdy  looked  at  her  consideringly : 
"  Time  enough  when  you've  had  a  rest  and  a  good 
supper.     Never  fear,  she's  as  eager  to  see  you  as  you 
are  to  see  her,"  then,  as  he  watched  her  walking  back 
into  the  hall,  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  "  There's 
something  of  Mrs.  Richard  there  after  all !  " 

A  few  moments  later  Barbara  was  following  the  stout 
housekeeper  up  the  small  winding  stair  which  occupied, 
opposite  the  porch  and  vestibule,  one  of  the  four 
corners  of  the  great  hall,  for  those  who  had  designed 
and  built  the  newer  portion  of  Chancton  Priory  had 
had  no  wish  to  sacrifice  any  portion  of  the  space  at 
their  disposal  to  the  exigencies  of  a  grand  staircase. 

Mrs.  Turke,  on  the  first  landing,  called  a  halt,  and 
Barbara  looked  about  her  with  languid  curiosity.  To 
the  right  stretched  a  dark  recess,  evidently  the  music 
gallery  which  overlooked  the  hall ;  to  the  left  a  broad 
well-lighted  corridor  led,  as  Mrs.  Rebell  at  once 
divined,  if  only  because  of  the  sudden  silence  which 
had  fallen  on  her  companion,  to  the  apartments  of 
the  paralysed  mistress  of  the  Priory,  to  those  of  her 
godmother,  Madame  Sampiero. 

Then  Mrs.  Turke,  her  loquacity  stilled,  laboured  on 
up  more  narrow  winding  stairs  till  they  reached  the 
third  storey,  and,  groping  her  way  down  many  winding 


42  BARBARA   REBELL. 

turnings,  she  finally  ushered  Mrs.  Rebell  with  some  cere- 
mony— for  evtny  incident  connected  with  daily  life  was 
to  Mrs.  Turke  a  matter  of  ritual — into  a  suite  of  low- 
ceilinged,  plainly  furnished  rooms,  of  which  the  windows 
opened  on  to  the  Tudor  stone  balcony  which  was  so 
distinctive  and  so  beautiful  a  feature  of  the  great  house, 
as  seen  from  the  spreading  lawns  below. 

Till  Barbara  found  herself  left  solitary — she  had 
declared  herself  well  able,  nay,  desirous  to  unpack  and 
dress  alone — all  that  had  taken  place  during  the  last 
hour  had  seemed  hardly  real. 

It  is  said  that  the  first  feeling  of  those  who,  after 
being  buffeted  in  the  storm,  tossed  to  and  fro  by  the 
waves,  are  finally  cast  up  on  dry  land,  is  not  always 
one  of  relief.  Barbara  was  no  longer  struggling  in 
deep  water,  but  she  still  felt  terribly  bruised  and  sore, 
and  the  smart  of  the  injuries  which  had  befallen  her 
was  still  with  her.  Standing  there,  in  the  peaceful 
rooms  which  had  been  those  of  her  own  mother,  a 
keen,  almost  a  physical,  longing  for  that  same  dear 
tender  mother  came  suddenly  over  her. 

Slowly  she  put  on  her  one  evening  dress,  a  white 
gown  which  had  been  hurriedly  made  during  the  hours 
which  had  elapsed  between  the  arrival  of  the  Johnstones' 
invitation  to  Government  House,  and  the  leaving  by 
her  of  her  husband's  plantation.  Then  she  looked  at 
herself  in  the  glass,  rather  pitifully  anxious  to  make  a 
good  impression  on  her  godmother — on  this  paralysed 
woman,  who,  if  the  London  lawyer  said  truly,  was  yet 
mentally  so  intensely  and  vividly  alive. 

To  give  herself  courage,  Barbara  tried  to  remember 
that  her  hostess  was  not  only  of  her  own  blood,  but 
that  she  had  been  the  one  dear,  intimate,  and  loyal 
friend   of  her  mother — the  only  human  being  whom 


BARBARA   REBELL.  43 

Richard  Rebell's  wife  had  refused  to  give  up  at  his 
bidding,  and  even  after  Madame  Sampiero  and  her 
kinsman  had  broken  off  all  epistolary  relationship. 
Why  had  they  done  so  ?  Out  of  the  past  came  the 
memory  of  sharp  bitter  words  uttered  by  Barbara's 
father  concerning  Madame  Sampiero  and  a  certain 
Lord  Bosworth.  Then,  more  recently,  when  she  was 
perhaps  about  thirteen,  had  come  news  of  a  child's 
death — the  child  had  been  called  Julia — and  Barbara's 
mother  had  wept  long  and  bitterly,  though  admitting, 
in  answer  to  her  young  daughter's  frightened  questions, 
that  she  had  not  known  the  little  Julia. 

Mrs.  Rebell  wrapped  a  shawl,  one  of  Grace  John- 
stone's many  thoughtful  gifts,  round  her  white  gown, 
and  so  stepped  through  her  window  on  to  the  stone 
balcony.  Standing  there,  looking  down  on  the  great 
dark  spaces  below,  she  suddenly  felt,  for  the  first 
time,  a  deep  sense  of  peace  and  of  protection  from 
past  sorrows  and  indignities.  For  the  first  time  also 
she  felt  that  she  had  been  justified  in  coming,  and  in 
leaving  the  man  who, — alas !  that  it  should  be  so,  he  being 
kinsman  as  well  as  husband, — had  treated  her  so  ill. 

During  the  long,  solitary  journey  home — if,  indeed, 
England  was  home — there  had  been  time  for  deep 
misgiving,  for  that  quick  examination  of  conscience 
which,  in  a  sensitive,  over-wrought  nature,  leads  to 
self-accusation,  to  a  fear  of  duty  neglected.  Barbara 
Rebell  was  but  now  emerging  from  what  had  been,  and 
that  over  years,  the  imprisonment  of  both  body  and 
soul.  Physically  she  had  become  free,  but  mentally 
she  still  had  often  during  the  last  five  weeks  felt  herself 
to  be  a  bondswoman.  During  the  voyage — aye,  even 
during  the  two  da3^s  spent  by  her  in  London — she  had 
seemed  to  suffer  more  sentiently  than  when  actually 
crushed  under  the  heel  of  Pedro  Rebel!,  the  half-Spanish 


44  BARBARA   REBELL. 

planter  whose  name  seemed  the  only  English  thing 
about  him.  Since  she  had  escaped  from  him,  Barbara 
had  felt  increasingly  the  degradation  of  her  hasty 
marriage  to  one  whose  kinship  to  herself,  distant  though 
it  was,  had  seemed  to  her  girlish  inexperience  an  ample 
guarantee.  That  she  had  once  loved  the  man,  — if,  indeed, 
the  romantic,  high-strung  fancy  which  had  swept  over 
the  newly-orphaned  girl  could  be  dignified  by  the  name 
of  love, — served  but  to  increase  her  feeling  of  shame. 

To-night,  leaning  over  the  stone  balcony  of  Chancton 
Priory,  Barbara  remembered  an  incident  which  had  of 
late  receded  in  her  mind  :  once  more  she  seemed  to 
feel  the  thrill  of  indignation  and  impotent  anger  which 
had  overwhelmed  her  when  she  had  found  out,  a  few 
weeks  after  her  wedding  day,  that  the  sum  of  money 
paid  yearly  by  Madame  Sampiero  to  Richard  Rebell's 
account,  and  untouched  by  him  for  some  ten  years 
before  his  death,  had  been  discovered  and  appropriated 
by  her  bridegroom,  with,  if  she  remembered  rightly,  the 
scornful  assent  of  Madame  Sampiero. 

Again  she  turned  hot,  as  though  the  episode  had 
happened  but  yesterday  instead  of  six  long  years  before ; 
and  she  asked  herself,  with  sudden  misgiving,  how  she 
had  ever  found  the  courage  to  petition  her  godmother 
for  the  shelter  of  her  roof.  She  could  never  have  brought 
herself  to  do  so  but  for  the  kindly  letter,  accompanied  by 
a  gift  of  a  hundred  pounds,  which  had  reached  her  once 
a  year  ever  since  her  ill-fated  marriage.  These  letters 
seemed  to  tell  her  that  the  old  link  which  had  bound 
her  mother  and  Barbara  Sampiero  so  closely  had  not 
snapped  with  death,  with  absence,  or  even,  on  the  part 
of  the  writer  of  them,  with  physical  disablement. 

At  last  Barbara  turned  back  into  the  room,  and, 
taking  up  a  candle,  made  her  way  slowly  and  noiselessly 
down  the  old  house. 


CHAPTER  II. 

*  Et  voilk  que  vieillie  et  qu'infirme  avant  ITieure 
Ta  main  tremble  k  jamais  qui  n'a  jamais  tremble, 
Voilk  qu'encore  plus  haute  et  que  toujours  meilleure 
L'ame  seule  est  debout  dans  ton  etre  accabld  .  .  ." 

P.  D 
"  Who  ever  rigged  fair  ships  to  lie  in  harbours  ? " 

Donne. 

Mrs.  Rebell  was  surprised  to  note  the  state  and 
decorum  with  which  the  meal  to  which  she  sat  down 
in  the  dining-room  was  served.  She  looked  with  some 
curiosity  at  the  elderly  impassive  butler  and  the  young 
footman — where  had  they  been  at  the  moment  of  her 
arrival  ? 

Barbara  had  yet  to  learn  that  implicit  obedience  to 
the  wills  of  Doctor  McKirdy  and  of  Mrs.  Turke  was  the 
rule  of  life  in  Chancton  Priory,  but  that  even  they, 
who  when  apart  were  formidable,  and  when  united 
irresistible,  had  to  give  way  when  any  of  their  fancies 
controverted  a  desire,  however  lightly  expressed,  of 
their  mistress. 

Doctor  McKirdy  would  long  ago  have  abolished  the 
office  of  butler,  and  even  more  that  of  footman ;  it 
irked  him  that  two  human  beings, — even  though  one, 
that  selected  by  himself,  was  a  Scotchman, — should  be 
eating  almost  incessantly  the  bread  of  idleness.  But 
Madame  Sampiero  had  made  it  clear  that  she  wished 
the  entertainment  of  her  infrequent  guests  to  be  carried 
on  exactly  as  if  she  herself  were  still  coming  and  going 
with  fleet,  graceful  steps  about  the  house  of  which  she 


46  BARBARA   REBELL. 

had  been  for  so  many  years  the  proud  and  happy 
mistress.  She  liked  to  feel  that  she  was  still  dispensing 
hospitality  in  the  stately  dining-room,  from  the  walls 
of  which  looked  down  an  odd  collection  of  family 
portraits,  belonging  to  every  period  of  English  history 
and  of  English  art;  some,  indeed  the  majority,  so 
little  worthy  from  the  artistic  point  of  view,  that  they 
had  been  considered  unfit  to  take  their  places  on  the 
cedarwood  panels  of  the  great  reception  rooms. 

Barbara  found  the  doctor  waiting  for  her  in  the  hall, 
walking  impatiently  up  and  down,  his  big  head  thrust 
forw'ard,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  He  was 
in  high  good  humour,  well  pleased  with  the  new  inmate 
of  the  Priory,  and  impressed  more  than  he  knew  by 
Barbara's  fragile  beauty  and  air  of  high  breeding.  In 
theory  no  living  man  was  less  amenable  to  the  influence 
of  feminine  charm  or  of  outward  appearance,  but  in 
actual  day-to-day  life  Alexander  McKirdy,  doubtless 
owing  to  the  old  law  of  opposites,  had  a  keen  feeling 
for  physical  perfection,  and  all  unconsciously  he 
abhorred  ugliness. 

As  Mrs.  Rebell  came  silently  towards  him  from 
behind  the  Chinese  screen  which  concealed  the  door 
leading  from  the  great  hall  to  the  dining-room,  he  shot 
but  at  her  a  quick  approving  glance.  Her  white  gown, 
made  more  plainly  than  was  the  fashion  of  that  hour, 
fell  in  austere  folds  about  her  upright  slender  figure ; 
the  knowledge  that  she  was  about  to  see  Madame  Sam- 
piero  had  brought  a  flush  to  her  pale  cheeks  and  a 
light  to  her  dark  eyes.  Without  a  word  the  doctor 
turned  and  led  the  way  up  the  winding  stair  with 
which  Barbara  was  already  feeling  a  pleasant  sense  of 
familiarity ;  an  old  staircase  is  the  last  of  household 
strongholds  which  surrenders  to  a  stranger. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  47 

When  they  reached  the  landing  opposite  the  music 
gallery,  the  doctor  turned  down  the  wide  corridor,  and 
Barbara,  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  surprise,  realised  that 
this  upper  floor  had  become  the  real  centre, — the  heart, 
as  it  were, — of  Chancton  Priory.  The  great  hall,  the 
drawing-room  in  which  she  had  received  Doctor 
McKirdy's  odd  confidences,  even  the  dining-room 
where  a  huge  fire  blazed  in  her  honour,  had  about 
them  a  strangely  unlived-in  and  deserted  air ;  but  up 
here  were  light  and  brightness,  indeed,  even  some  of 
the  modern  prettinesses  of  life, — huge  pots  of  fragrant 
hothouse  flowers,  soft  rugs  under-foot. 

When  opposite  to  the  high  door  with  which  the 
corridor  terminated,  Doctor  McKirdy  turned  and 
looked  for  a  moment  at  his  companion ;  and,  as  he 
did  so,  it  seemed  to  Barbara  that  he  was  deliberately 
smoothing  out  the  deep  lines  carved  by  ever-present 
watchfulness  and  anxiety  on  the  rugged  surface  of  his 
face.  Then  he  knocked  twice,  sharp  quick  knocks, 
signal-like  in  their  precision ;  and,  scarcely  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  walked  straight  through,  saying  as  he 
did  so,  "Just  wait  here  a  moment — I  will  make  you 
a  sign  when  to  come  forward." 

And  then,  standing  just  within  the  door,  and  gazing 
with  almost  painful  eagerness  before  her,  Mrs.  Rebell 
saw  as  in  a  vision  that  which  recalled,  and  to  a  startling 
degree,  a  great  Roman  lying-in-state  to  which  she  had 
been  taken,  as  a  very  young  girl,  during  a  winter  spent 
by  her  with  her  parents  in  Italy. 

Between  the  door  and  the  four  curtainless  windows, 
through  one  of  which  now  gleamed  the  young 
October  moon,  Barbara  became  aware  that  on  a 
long  narrow  couch,  placed  catafalque  fashion,  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  an  absolutely  immobile  figure  lay 
stretched  out.     The   light   shed    from   candles   set  in 


48  BARBARA   REBELL. 

branching  candlesticks  about  the  room  threw  every 
detail  of  the  still  figure,  and  especially  of  the  head 
supported  on  high  pillows,  into  prominent  relief. 

From  the  black  satin  cushion  on  which  rested  two 
upright  slippered  feet,  the  gazer's  fascinated  eyes 
travelled  up — past  the  purple  velvet  gown  arranged 
straightly  and  stiffly  from  waist  to  hem,  past  the  cross- 
over lace  shawl  which  almost  wholly  concealed  the 
velvet  bodice,  and  so  to  the  still  beautiful  oval  face,  and 
the  elaborately  dressed,  thickly  powdered  hair.  On 
the  mittened  hands,  stiffly  folded  together,  gleamed  a 
diamond  and  a  ruby.  There  was  present  no  distortion 
— the  whole  figure,  only  looking  unnaturally  long,  was 
simply  set  in  trembling  immobility. 

Madame  Sampiero — the  Barbara  Rebell  of  another 
day — was  still  made  up  for  the  part  she  chose  to  play 
to  the  restricted  audience  which  represented  the  great 
band  of  former  adorers  and  friends,  some  of  whom 
would  fain  have  been  about  her  still  had  she  been 
willing  to  admit  them  to  her  presence  in  this,  her  time 
of  humiliation. 

As  the  door  had  opened,  her  large,  wide  open  deep 
blue  eyes,  still  full  of  the  pride  of  life,  and  capable  of 
expressing  an  extraordinary  amount  of  feeling,  turned 
with  a  flash  of  inquiry  to  the  left,  and  a  touch  of  real 
colour — a  sign  of  how  deeply  she  was  moved — came 
into  the  delicately  moulded,  slightly  rouged  cheeks. 
The  maid  who  stood  by, — a  gaunt  Scotchwoman  who, 
by  dint  of  Doctor  McKirdy's  fierceness  of  manner,  and 
the  foreknowledge  of  constantly  increased  wages,  had 
been  turned  into  little  more  than  a  trained  automaton, 
— retreated  noiselessly  through  a  door  giving  access  to 
a  room  beyond,  leaving  the  doctor,  his  patient,  and 
Mrs.  Rebell  alone. 

Tears    started    to    Barbara's  eyes,  but  they  were 


BARBARA   REBELL.  49 

brought  there,  not  so  much  by  the  sight  she  saw 
before  her,  as  by  the  sudden  change  which  that  same 
sight  seemed  to  produce  in  the  elderly  man  who  now 
stood  by  her.  Doctor  McKirdy's  whole  manner  had 
altered.  He  had  become  quite  gentle,  and  his  face 
was  even  twisted  into  a  wry  smile  as  he  put  his  small 
strong  hands  over  the  trembling  fingers  of  Madame 
Sampiero. 

"  Well,  here's  Mrs.  Barbara  Rebell  at  last !  "  he  said, 
"  and  I'm  minded  to  think  that  Chancton  Priory  will 
find  her  a  decided  acquisition  !  " 

Barbara  was  amazed,  indescribably  moved  and 
touched,  to  see  the  light  which  came  over  the  stiff  face, 
as  the  dark  blue  eyes  met  and  became  fixed  on  her 
own.  Words,  nay,  not  words,  but  strange  sounds 
signifying — what  did  they  signify  ? — came  from  the 
trembling  lips.  Mrs.  Rebell  herself  soon  learned  to 
interpret  Madame  Sampiero's  muffled  utterances,  but 
on  this  first  occasion  she  thought  Doctor  McKirdy's 
quick  understanding  and  translating  of  her  godmother's 
meaning  almost  uncanny. 

"  Madam  trusts  you  enjoyed  a  good  journey,"  he 
said ;  and  then,  after  apparently  listening  intently  for 
a  moment  to  the  hoarse  muttered  sounds,  "Ay,  I've 
told  her  that  already, — Madam  wants  you  to  under- 
stand that  the  rooms  prepared  for  you  were  those 
preferred  by  Mrs.  Richard."  He  bent  forward,  and  put 
his  hand  to  his  ear,  for  even  he  had  difficulty  in  under- 
standing the  now  whispered  mutterings,  "  Ay,  ay,  I 
will  tell  her,  never  fear — Madam  wishes  you  to  under- 
stand that  there  are  some  letters  of  your  mother's, — she 
thinks  you  would  like  to  see  them  and  she  will  give 
them  to  you  to-morrow.  And  now  if  you  please  she 
will  say  good-night." 

Following  a  sudden  impulse,  Mrs.  Rebell  bent  down 

B.R.  E 


50  BARBARA   REBELL. 

and  kissed  the  trembling  mittened  hands.  "  I  do  thank 
you,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly,  "  very  very  gratefully 
for  having  allowed  mc  to  come  here." 

The  v^ords  seemed,  to  the  woman  who  uttered  them, 
poor  and  inadequate,  for  her  heart  was  very  full,  but 
Doctor  McKirdy,  glancing  sharply  at  their  still  listener, 
saw  that  Madame  Sampiero  was  content,  and  that  his 
experiment — for  so  the  old  Scotchman  regarded  the 
coming  of  Barbara  Rebell  to  Chancton — was  likely  to 
be  successful. 

Had  Mrs.  Rebell,  as  child  and  girl,  lived  the  ordinary 
life  of  a  young  Englishwoman,  she  would  have  realised, 
from  the  first  moment  of  her  arrival  at  Chancton  Priory, 
how  strange,  how  abnormal  were  the  conditions  of 
existence  there ;  but  the  quiet  solitude  brooding  over  the 
great  house  suited  her  mood,  and  soothed  her  sore 
humihation  of  spirit. 

As  she  moved  about,  that  first  morning,  making 
acquaintance  with  each  of  the  stately  deserted  rooms 
lying  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  great  hall,  and  seeking 
to  find  likenesses  to  her  father — ay,  even  to  herself — 
in  the  portraits  of  those  dead  and  gone  men  and  women 
whose  eyes  seemed  to  follow  her  as  she  came  and 
went  among  them,  she  felt  a  deep  voiceless  regret 
in  the  knowledge  that,  but  for  so  slight  a  chain  of 
accidents,  here  she  might  have  come  six  years  ago. 

In  fancy  she  saw  herself,  as  in  that  case  she  would 
have  been  by  now,  a  woman  perhaps  in  years — for 
Barbara,  brought  up  entirely  on  the  Continent,  thought 
girlhood  ended  at  twenty — but  a  joyous  single-hearted 
creature,  her  only  past  a  not  unhappy  girlhood,  and  six 
long  peaceful  years  spent  in  this  beautiful  place,  well 
spent  too  in  tending  the  stricken  woman  to  whom  she 
already  felt  so  close  a  tie  of  inherited  love  and  duty. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  51 

Ah !  how  much  more  vividly  that  which  might  have 
been  came  before  her  when  she  heard  the  words  with 
which  Mrs.  Turke  greeted  her — Mrs.  Turke  resplendent 
in  a  black  satin  gown,  much  flounced  and  gathered, 
trimmed  with  bright  red  bows,  and  set  off  by  a  coral 
necklace. 

"  I  do  hope  and  trust,  Miss  Barbara  " and  then 

she  stopped,  laughing  shrilly  at  herself,  "  What  am  I 
saying  ? — well  to  be  sure  ! — I  am  a  silly  old  woman,  but 
it's  Madam's  fault, — she's  said  it  to  me  and  the  doctor 
a  dozen  times  this  fortnight,  *  When  Miss  Barbara's 
come  home  so-and-so  will  have  to  be  done,' — And  now 
that  j^ou  are  come  home,  Ma'am  (don't  you  be  afraid 
that  I'll  be  *  Missing  '  you  again),  I'll  have  the  holland 
covers  taken  off  the  furniture  !  " 

For  they  were  standing  in  the  first  of  the  two  great 
drawing-rooms,  and  Mrs.  Turke  looked  round  her  rue- 
fully :  **  I  did  want  to  have  it  done  yesterday,  but  the 
doctor  he  said,  *  Let  them  be.'  Of  course  I  know 
there'll  be  company  kept  now,  and  a  good  thing  too ! 
If  it  wasn't  for  the  coming  here  so  constant  of  my  own 
young  gentleman — of  Mr.  James  Berwick,  I  mean — 
we  would  be  perished  with  dulness.  *  The  more  the 
merrier' — you'll  hardly  believe,  Ma'am,  that  such  was 
used  to  be  the  motto  of  Chancton  Priory.  That  was 
long  ago,  in  the  days  of  Madam's  good  father,  and  of 
her  lady  mother.  I  can  remember  them  merry  times 
well  enough,  for  I  was  born  here,  dear  only  daughter  to 
the  butler  and  to  Lady  Barbara's  own  woman — that's 
what  they  called  ladies'  maids  in  those  days.  Folk 
were  born,  married,  and  died  in  the  same  service." 

**  Then  I  suppose  you  have  never  left  Chancton 
Priory  ?  "  Mrs.  Rebel!  was  looking  at  the  old  woman 
with  some  curiosity. 

**  Oh  1  Lord  bless  you  yes,  Ma'am  1     I've  seen  a  deal 

£   2 


52  BARBARA   REBELL. 

of  the  world.  There  was  an  interlude,  a  most  romantic 
affair,  Miss  Barbara — there  I  go  again — well.  Ma'am,  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it  some  day.  It's  quite  as  interesting 
as  any  printed  tale.  In  fact  there's  one  story  that 
reminds  me  very  much  indeed  of  my  own  romantic 
affair, — no  doubt  you've  read  it, — Mr.  James  Berwick, 
he  knows  it  quite  well, — that  of  the  Primrose  family. 
Olivia  her  name  was,  and  she  was  deceived  just  as  I 
was, — but  there,  I  made  the  best  of  it,  and  it  all  came 
to  pass  most  providentially.  Why,  they  would  never 
have  reared  Mr.  Berwick  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  and 
my  being  able  to  suckle  the  dear  lamb,  and  there  would 
have  been  a  misfortune  for  our  dear  country  !  " 

A  half  shuffling  step  coming  across  the  hall  checked, 
as  if  by  magic,  Mrs.  Turke's  flow  of  reminiscence.  She 
looked  deprecatingly  into  Barbara's  face.  "  You  won't 
be  mentioning  what  I've  been  telling  you  to  the  doctor, 
will  you,  Ma'am  ?  He  hates  anything  romantic,  that 
he  do,  and  as  for  love  and  poetry, — well,  he  don't  even 
know  the  meaning  of  those  expressions  I  I've  often 
had  to  say  that  right  out  to  his  face !  " 

**  And  then  what  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  It  just  depends  on  the  mood  he's  in  :  sometimes — 
I'm  sorry  to  say  it  of  him,  that  I  am — he  uses  most 
coarse  expressions, — quite  rude  ones  !  Only  yesterday, 
he  said  to  me,  *  If  you  will  talk  about  spades,  Mrs. 
Turke,  then  talk  about  spades,  don't  call  them  silver 
spoons,' — as  if  I  would  do  such  a  silly  thing  !  But 
there,  he  do  lead  such  a  horrid  life,  all  alone  in  that 
little  house  of  his,  it's  small  wonder  he  don't  quite 
know  how  to  converse  with  a  refined  person.  But  he's 
wonderfully  educated — Madam's  always  thought  a  deal 
of  him." 

As  Doctor  McKirdy  opened  the  door  Mrs.  Turke 
slipped  quickly  past  him,  and  silently  he  watched  her 


BARBARA  REBELL.  53 

go,  with  no  jibe  ready.  He  was  looking  straight  at 
Mrs.  Rebell,  hesitating,  even  reddening  dully,  an  odd 
expression  in  his  light  eyes. 

Barbara's  heart  sank, — what  was  he  going  to  tell 
her  ? — what  painful  thing  had  he  to  say  ?  Then  he 
came  close  to  her,  and  thrust  a  large  open  envelope 
into  her  hand.  "Madam  bid  me  give  you  these,"  he 
said;  "when  you  are  wanting  anything,  just  send  one 
or  more  along  by  post, — duly  registered,  of  course," — 
and  under  her  hand  Barbara  felt  the  crinkle  of  bank 
notes.  "  She  would  like  you  to  get  your  things,  your 
clothes  and  a'  that,  from  Paris.  Old  Leonie,  Madam's 
French  maid, — I  don't  think  you've  seen  her  yet, — will 
give  you  the  addresses.  Madam  likes  those  about  her 
to  look  well.  I'm  the  only  one  that  has  any  licence 
that  way — oh  !  and  something  considerably  more  valu- 
able she  has  also  sent  you,"  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket 
and  held  out  a  small  gilt  key.  "  Madam  desires  you  to 
take  her  writing-table,  here,  for  your  own  use.  Inside 
you'll  find  the  letters  she  spoke  of  yesterday  night — 
those  written  by  Mrs.  Richard, — the  other  packets, 
you  will  please,  she  says,  not  disturb." 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  walked  across  to  the 
Louis  XV.  escritoire  which  was  so  placed  at  right 
angles  to  one  of  the  windows  that  it  commanded  the 
whole  wide  view  of  woods,  sea,  and  sky.  "  Now,"  he 
said,  **  be  pleased  to  place  that  envelope  in  there,  and 
turn  the  key  yourself."  As  Barbara  obeyed  him,  her 
hand  fumbling  with  the  lock,  he  added  with  a  look  of 
relief,  "  After  business,  let's  come  to  pleasure.  Would 
you  be  feeling  inclined  for  a  walk  ?  Madam  will  be 
expecting  you  to  tell  her  what  you  think  of  the  place. 
She's  interested  in  every  little  thing  about  it." 

Doctor  McKirdy  hurried  her  through  into  the  hall,  and 
Barbara  was  grateful  indeed  that  he  took  no  noticQ  and 


54  BARBARA   REBELL. 

seemed  oblivious  of  the  tears — tears  of  oppressed, 
moved  gratitude — which  were  trickling  slowly  down 
her  cheeks.  "  Don't  go  upstairs  to  your  room, — no 
bonneting  is  wanted  here !  "  he  said  quickly,  "just  put 
this  on."  He  brought  her  the  long  white  yachting  cloak, 
yet  another  gift,  this  time  disguised  as  a  loan,  of 
Grace  Johnstone,  and  after  he  had  folded  it  round  her 
with  kindly  clumsy  hands,  and  when  she  had  drawn  the 
white  hood  over  her  dark  hair, — "  You  look  very  well  in 
that,"  he  observed,  in  the  tone  in  which  he  might  have' 
spoken  to  a  pretty  child,  "  I'm  minded  to  take  you  up  to 
Madam  and  let  her  see  you  so — and  yet — no,  we've  not' 
so  long  a  time  before  your  dinner  will  be  coming,"  and 
so  they  passed  through  the  porch  into  the  open  air. 

Alexander  McKirdy  had  come  to  have  something  of 
the  pride  of  ownership  in  Chancton  Priory,  and  as  he 
walked  his  companion  quickly  this  way  and  that, — 
making  no  attempt  to  suit  his  pace  to  hers, — he  told 
her  much  that  she  remembered  afterwards,  and  which 
amused  and  interested  her  at  the  time,  of  the  people 
who  had  lived  in  the  splendid  old  house.  The  life- 
stories  of  some  of  Barbara's  forbears  had  struck  the 
Scotchman's  whimsical  fancy,  and  he  had  burrowed 
much  in  the  muniment  room  where  were  kept  many 
curious  manuscripts,  for  the  Rebells  had  ever  been  culti- 
vated beyond  the  usual  degree  of  Sussex  squiredom. 

When  they  had  skirted  the  wide  lawns,  the  doctor 
hurried  her  through  a  small  plantation  of  high  elms 
to  the  stables.  In  this  large  quadrangular  building  of 
red  brick,  wholly  encompassed  by  trees,  reigned  a  great 
air  of  desolation  :  there  were  three  horses  stabled  where 
there  had  once  been  forty,  and  as  they  passed  out  from 
the  courtyard  where  grass  grew  between  each  stone, 
Barbara  asked  rather  timidly,  for  her  hking  for  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  55 

doctor  was  still  tempered  by  something  very  like  fear, 
**  Why  are  there  no  flowers  ?  I  thought  in  England 
there  were  always  flowers." 

Now  Doctor  McKirdy  was  unaccustomed  to  hear  even 
the  smallest  word  of  criticism  of  Chancton  Priory. 
"What  do  ye  want  flowers  for  ?  "  he  growled  out, 
"  grass  and  trees  are  much  less  perishable.  Is  not  this 
prospect  more  grand  and  more  permanently  pleasing 
than  that  which  would  be  produced  by  flowers  ? 
Besides,  you've  got  the  borders  close  to  the  house." 

He  had  brought  her  to  an  opening  in  the  high  trees 
which  formed  a  rampart  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
Priory,  and,  with  his  lean  arm  stretched  out,  he  was 
pointing  down  a  broad  grass  drive,  now  flecked  with 
long  shafts  of  golden  October  sunlight.  On  one  side 
of  this  grassy  way  rose  a  holly  hedge,  and  on  the  other, 
under  the  trees,  was  a  drift  of  beech  leaves. 

Turning  round,  Barbara  suddenly  gave  a  cry  of 
delight ;  set  in  an  arch,  cut  out  of  the  densv  wall  of 
holly,  was  a  small  iron  gate,  and  through  the  aperture 
so  made  could  be  seen  a  rose  garden,  the  ancient  rosery 
of  Chancton  Priory,  now  a  tangle  of  exquisite  colouring, 
a  spot  evidently  jealously  guarded  and  hidden  away 
even  from  those  few  to  whom  the  familiar  beauties  of 
the  place  were  free. 

Doctor  McKirdy  followed  her  gaze  with  softened 
melancholy  eyes.  He  had  not  meant  to  bring  Mrs. 
Rebell  to  this  spot,  but  silently  he  opened  the  little  iron 
gate,  and  stood  holding  it  back  for  her  to  pass  through 
into  the  narrow  rose-bordered  way. 

Surrounded  by  beech  trees  and  high  hedges,  the  rosery 
had  evidently  been  designed  long  before  the  days  of 
scientific  gardening,  but  in  the  shadowed  enclosure 
many  of  the  summer  roses  were  still  blooming.  And 
yet  a  feeling  of  oppression  came  over  Barbara  as  she 


56  BARBARA   REBELL. 

walked  slowly  down  the  mossy  path  :  this  lovely  garden, 
whose  very  formality  of  arrangement  was  an  added 
grace,  looked  not  so  much  neglected  as  abandoned, 
uncared  for. 

As  the  two  walked  slowly  on  side  by  side,  they  came  at 
last  to  a  fantastic  fountain,  set  in  the  centre  of  the 
rosery,  stone  cupids  shaking  slender  jets  of  water  from 
rose-laden  cornucopias,  and  so  to  the  very  end  of  the 
garden — that  furthest  from  the  Priory.  It  was  bounded 
by  a  high  red  brick  wall,  probably  all  that  remained  of 
some  building  older  than  the  rosery,  for  it  had  been 
cleverly  utilised  to  serve  as  a  background  and  shelter  to 
the  earliest  spring  roses,  and  was  now  bare  of  blossom, 
almost  of  leaves.  In  the  centre  of  this  wall,  built  into 
the  old  brick  surface,  was  an  elaborate  black  and  white 
marble  tablet  or  monument,  on  which  was  engraved 
the  following  inscription  : — 

••  Hie,  ubi  ludebas  vagula  olim  et  blandula  virgo, 
Julia,  defendunt  membra  foventque  rosae. 
Laetius  ah  quid  te  tenuit,  quid  purius,  orbis  ?^ 
Nunc  solum  mater  quod  fueris  meminit." 

"What  is  it?  What  is  written  there?"  Barbara 
asked  with  some  eagerness.  **  How  strange  a  thing  to 
find  in  a  rose  garden  !  '* 

She  had  turned  to  her  companion,  but  for  a  while  he 
made  no  answer.  Then  at  last,  speaking  with  an  even 
stronger  burr  than  usual.  Doctor  McKirdy  translated, 
in  a  quiet  emotionless  voice,  the  inscription  which  had 
been  composed  by  Lord  Bosworth,  at  the  bidding  of 
Madame  Sampiero,  to  the  memory  of  their  beloved 
child. 

"Here, where  thou  wert  wont  once  to  play,  a  little  sweet  wandering 
maid,  Julia,  the  roses  protect  and  cherish  thy  limbs.  Ah,  what 
happier  or  purer  thing  than  thee  did  the  world  contain  ?  " 


BARBARA   REBELL.  57 

"  Do  ye  wish  to  hear  the  rest  ?  "  he  said,  rather 
sharply,  **  'Twas  put  in  against  my  will  and  conscience, 
for  'tis  false — false !  " 

She  bent  her  head,  and  he  read  on, 

"  Now,  only  thy  mother  remembers  that  thou  wast.* 

Barbara  looked  up,  questions  trembling  on  her  lips, 
but  her  eyes  dropped  as  they  met  his.  **  Madam  would 
have  her  put  here,"  he  said  ;  "  Julia's  garden, — that's 
what  we  used  to  call  it,  and  that  is  what  it  still  is,  for 
here  she  lies, — coffinless." 

Again  he  pointed  to  the  last  line,  "  Madam  ought 
not  to  have  had  that  added  when  there's  not  a  man  or 
woman  about  the  place  who's  forgotten  the  child! 
But  beyond  the  walls, — ah !  well,  who  knows  what  is 
remembered  beyond  the  walls  ?  ** 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Barbara  in  a  low 
tone ;  out  of  the  past  she  was  remembering  a  June  day 
at  St.  Germains.  What  had  she  been  promised  ? — ah, 
yes  !  **  the  sweetest  of  playfellows." 

"Well,  I  was  just  meaning  that  Madam,  when  she  made 
us  put  in  those  words,  was  thinking  may-be  of  some  who 
do  not  belong  to  the  Priory,  who  live  beyond  the  walls. 
I  make  no  doubt  that  those  folk  have  no  time  to  cast 
their  minds  back  so  far  as  to  remember  little  Julia." 

He  turned  sharply  round  and  walked  as  if  in  haste 
through  the  garden,  his  head  thrust  forward,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  in  what  Barbara  already  knew 
to  be  his  favourite  attitude. 

Once  outside  the  gate,  Doctor  McKirdy  looked  long, 
first  towards  the  Priory,  then  down  the  broad  grass 
drive.  "  And  now,"  he  said  briskly,  "  let's  get  away  to 
the  downs, — there's  more  air  out  there  than  here !  " 

The  road  leading  from  the  Priory  gates  to  the  open 
downs  lay  along  a  western  curve  of  country-side,  and 


58  BARBARA   REBELL. 

was  over-arched  by  great  elms.  To  the  west  Mrs. 
Rebell  caught  glimpses  of  a  wide  plain  verging  towards 
the  sea,  and  in  the  clear  autumn  air  every  tree  and  bush 
flamed  with  glory  of  gold  and  russet. 

As  they  walked  along  the  white  chalky  ridged  cart 
track,  the  doctor  looked  kindly  enough  at  the  woman 
by  his  side.  She  was  not  beautiful  as  had  been  her 
mother,  and  yet  he  saw  that  her  features  were  very 
perfect,  and  that  health, — perfect  recovery  from  what 
had  evidently  been  a  bad  illness, — might  give  her  the 
bloom,  the  radiance,  which  were  now  lacking.  The 
old  Scotchman  also  told  himself  with  satisfaction 
that  she  was  intelligent — probably  cultivated.  With 
the  one  supreme  exception  of  Madame  Sampiero,  Doctor 
McKirdy  had  had  very  little  to  do  with  intelligent 
women  ;  but  Barbara,  from  her  way  of  listening  to  his 
stories  of  Chancton  Priory,  from  her  questions  and  her 
answers,  had  proved — or  so  thought  the  doctor — that 
she  was  one  of  the  very  few  members  of  her  sex  who 
take  the  trouble  to  think  for  themselves. 

**  I  suppose  Mr.  Sampiero  is  dead  ?  " 

Never  was  man  more  unpleasantly  roused  from  an 
agreeable  train  of  thought. 

"  He  was  dead  last  time  we  heard  of  him,  but  that 
happened  once  before,  and  then  he  came  to  life  again — 
and  most  inopportunely." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Doctor  McKirdy  added,  in  a 
tone  which  from  him  was  new  to  Barbara,  "  I  wonder 
if  you  are  one  to  take  offence,  even  if  the  offensive 
thing  be  said  for  your  own  exclusive  benefit  ?  "  He 
did  not  wait  for  her  reply,  "  I  think  you  should  just  be 
informed  that  the  man — that  individual  to  whom  you 
referred — is  never  to  be  mentioned.  Here  at  Chancton 
he  is  forgotten,  completely  obliterated — wiped  out  " 
He  made  a  fierce  gesture  as  though  his  strong  hands 


BARBARA   REBELL.  59 

were  destroying,  crushing  the  life  out  of,  some  vile 
thing. 

"  Since  I  came  here,  thirty  years  ago,  no  one  has 
dared  to  speak  of  him  to  me,  and  the  only  time  that 
Madam  had  to  communicate  with  me  about  him  she 
wrote  what  she  had  to  say — I,  making  answer  to  her, 
followed  the  same  course.  I  thought,  may-be,  I'd 
better  let  you  know  how  he  is  felt  about  in  this  place." 

**  I  am  sorry,"  faltered  Barbara.  "  I  did  not  know — 
My  father  and  mother  told  me  so  little " 

"  They're  a  fearsome  gossiping  lot  in  Chancton," 
Doctor  McKirdy  was  still  speaking  in  an  angry  ruffled 
voice ;  **  I  don't  suppose  you'll  have  much  call  to  see 
any  of  them,  but  Madam  may  just  mean  you  to  do  so, 
and  you  may  as  well  be  put  on  your  guard.  And  then 
you'll  be  having  your  own  friends  here,  I'm  thinking  " — 
he  shot  a  quick  look  at  her — "  Madam  bid  me  tell  you 
that  she  has  no  idea  of  your  shutting  yourself  up,  and 
having  no  company  but  Mrs.  Turke  and," — he  turned 
and  made  her  an  odd,  ungainly  little  bow — "  your  most 
humble  servant  here  !  " 

**  I  have  no  friends,"  said  Barbara,  in  a  very  low 
tone.  "  Nay,  I  should  not  say  that,  for  I  have  two  very 
good  friends,  a  Mr.  Johnstone,  the  Governor  of  Santa 
Maria,  and  his  wife — also,  since  yesterday,  a  third, 
— if  he  will  take  me  on  trust  for  my  mother's  sake." 
She  smiled  on  her  companion  with  a  touch  of  very 
innocent  coquetry.  Doctor  McKirdy's  good  humour 
came  back. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  doubt  about  that  third 
friend,"  but  his  brow  clouded  as  Barbara  added, 
"There  is  one  person  in  Chancton  I'm  very  anxious 
to  see, — a  Mrs.  Boringdon.  She  is  the  mother  of  my 
friend  Mrs.  Johnstone." 

The    mention    of   this   lady's   name   found   Doctor 


6o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

McKirdy  quite  prepared,  and  ready  with  an  answer. 
"Well,  I'm  not  saying  you'll  like  her,  and  I'm  not 
saying  you'll  dislike  her." 

"  If  she's  at  all  like  her  daughter  I  know  I  shall  like 
her." 

"May-be  you  will  prefer  the  son,  Mr.  Oliver  Boring- 
don — I  do  so  myself,  though  I've  no  love  to  waste  on 
him." 

How  the  doctor  longed  to  tell  Mrs.  Rebell  what  he 
really  thought  of  this  Mrs.  Boringdon,  the  mother  of 
Madame  Sampiero's  estate  agent,  and  of  how  badly 
from  his  point  of  view  this  same  young  gentleman, 
Oliver  Boringdon,  sometimes  behaved  to  him  !  But 
native  caution,  a  shrewd  knowledge  that  such  warnings 
often  bring  about  the  exact  opposite  to  what  is  intended 
by  those  who  utter  them,  kept  him  silent. 

Barbara's  next  words  annoyed  him  keenly. 

"  Oliver  !  "  she  cried,  "  of  course  I  shall  like  him  I  " 

"  Oliver  ?  Then  you're  already  acquainted  with 
him  ?  "  The  doctor  felt  beside  himself  with  vexation. 
He  was  a  man  of  feuds,  and  to  him  the  land  agent,  all 
the  more  so  that  he  was  a  highly  educated  man,  who 
had  been  a  civil  servant,  and  later,  for  a  brief  period  of 
glory,  a  member  of  Parliament,  was  a  very  real  thorn 
in  the  flesh. 

But  Barbara  was  laughing,  really  laughing,  and  for 
the  first  time  since  her  arrival  at  Chancton.  "  If  I 
were  acquainted  with  him,"  she  cried,  "  surely  I  should 
not  be  calling  him  by  his  Christian  name !  But  of 
course  his  sister,  Mrs.  Johnstone,  has  talked  to  me  of 
him  :  he  is  her  only  brother,  and  she  thinks  him  quite 
perfect." 

"  It's  well  there  are  two  to  think  him  so !  I  refer,  o' 
course.  Ma'am,  to  the  youth  himself,  and  to  this  lady 
who  is  a  friend  of  yours." 


BARBARA   REBELL.  6i 

"  Is  he  conceited  ?     Oh  !  what  a  pity  I  " 

"  Conceited  ?  "  Doctor  McKirdy  prided  himself  on 
his  sense  of  strict  justice  and  probity :  "  Nay,  nay, 
that's  no'  the  word  for  it.  Mr.  Oliver  Boringdon  just 
considers  that  he  is  always  right,  and  that  such  a 
good  thinker  as  himself  can  never  be  wrong.  He's 
encouraged  in  his  ideas  by  the  silly  women  about 
here." 

"  Does  my  godmother  like  him  ? — he's  her  land- 
agent,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Madam ! "  cried  Doctor  McKirdy  indignantly, 
"  Madam  has  never  wasted  a  thought  upon  him, — why 
should  she  ?  " 

He  looked  quite  angrily  at  his  companion.  Barbara 
was  still  smiling  :  a  delicate  colour,  the  effect  of  walking 
against  the  wind,  had  come  into  her  face. 

"They're  all  alike,"  growled  the  doctor  to  himself, 
"just  mention  a  young  man  to  a  young  woman  and 
smiling  begins,"  but  the  harsh  judgment,  like  most 
harsh  judgments,  was  singularly  at  fault.  Poor  Barbara 
was  waking  up  to  life  again,  ready  to  take  pleasure  in 
the  slightest  matter  which  touched  her  sense  of  humour. 
The  doctor,  however,  had  become  seriously  uneasy. 
Why  this  strange  interest  in  the  Boringdons  ?  Mrs. 
Rebell  now  belonged  to  the  Priory,  and  so  was  surely 
bound  to  adopt  without  question  all  his,  Alexander 
McKirdy's,  views  and  prejudices.  Her  next  words 
fortunately  gave  him  the  opening  he  sought. 

"  I  suppose  there  are  many  young  ladies  at 
Chancton  ?  " 

"There  is  just  one,"  he  said,  brightening,  "a  fine 
upstanding  lass.  The  father  of  her  is  General  Thomas 
Kemp.  May-be  you've  heard  of  him,  for  he's  quite  a 
hero,  Victoria  Cross  and  a'  that,  though  the  fools  about 
here  don't  recognise  him  as  such." 


62  BARBARA  REBELL. 

"No,"  said  Barbara,  "I  never  heard  of  the  heroic 
General  Kemp." 

Her  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  soft  laughter. 
Living  with  her  parents  first  in  one  and  then  in 
another  continental  town,  she  had  had  as  a  young 
girl  many  long  solitary  hours  at  her  disposal,  and  she 
had  then  read,  with  keen  zest,  numberless  old- 
fashioned  novels  of  English  life.  This  talk  seemed  to 
bring  back  to  her  mind  many  a  favourite  story,  out  of 
which  she  had  tried  in  the  long  ago  to  reconstruct  the 
England  she  had  then  so  longed  to  know.  Ah  !  now 
she  must  begin  novel-reading  again !  And  so  she 
said,  "  I  suppose  that  Oliver  Boringdon  is  in  love  with 
the  General's  daughter." 

Doctor  McKirdy  turned  and  looked  at  her,  amazed 
and  rather  suspicious ;  **  you  show  great  prescience — 
really  remarkable  prescience.  Ma'am.  I  was  just  about 
explaining  to  you  that  there  is  no  doubt  something 
like  a  kindness  betwixt  them.  There's  another  one 
likes  her,  a  Captain  Laxton,  but  they  say  she  won't 
have  aught  to  say  to  him." 

"  Oh  no !  she  must  be  true  to  Mr.  Boringdon,  and 
then,  after  a  long  engagement, — oh  !  how  wise  to  have 
a  long  engagement," — Barbara  sighed  instinctively — 
"they  will  be  married  in  the  little  church  which  I  look 
down  upon  from  my  stone  balcony  ?  and  then — why 
then  they  will  live  happy  ever  after !  " 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot  promise  you  that,"  said  Doctor 
McKirdy  gruffly,  "that  would  be  forecasting  a  great 
deal  too  much  1 " 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  deeply  rutted  path  was 
emerging  abruptly  on  a  vast  expanse  of  rolling  uplands. 
They  were  now  on  the  open  down ;  Barbara  laid  a 
detaining  hand  on  the  old  Scotchman's  arm,  and  looked 
about  her  with  enraptured  eyes.     Before  her,  to  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  63 

east,  lay  a  dark  oasis,  a  black-green  stretch  of  fir 
plantation,  redeemed  a  hundred  years  ago  from  the 
close  cropped  turf,  and  a  large  white  house  looked 
out  from  thence  up  the  distant  sea.  To  the  north, 
some  three  miles  away,  rose  the  high  sky-line.  A  dense 
wood,  said  to  be  part  of  the  primeval  forest,  crept 
upwards  on  a  parallel  line.  There,  so  says  tradition, 
Boadicea  made  her  last  stand,  and  across  this  down  a 
Roman  road  still  asserts  the  final  supremacy  of  the 
imperial  force. 

A  sound  of  voices,  of  steady  tramping  feet,  broke 
the  exquisite  stillness.  Towards  them,  on  the  path 
which  at  a  certain  point  sharply  converged  from  that 
on  which  Doctor  McKirdy  and  Barbara  stood,  advanced 
Fate,  coming  in  the  shape  of  two  men  who  were  in 
sharp  contrast  the  one  to  the  other. 

Oliver  Boringdon — dark,  upright,  steady-eyed — had 
still  something  of  the  Londoner  and  of  the  Government 
official  about  his  appearance.  His  dark,  close-cropped 
hair  was  covered  by  a  neat  cap  which  matched  his 
serge  coat  and  knickerbockers.  His  companion,  James 
Berwick,  looked — as  indeed  he  was — far  more  a  citizen 
of  the  world.  He  was  bare-headed,  his  fair  hair  ruffled 
and  lifted  from  his  lined  forehead  by  the  wind ;  his 
shooting  clothes,  of  rough  tweed  and  ugly  yellow  check 
colouring,  were  more  or  less  out  of  shape.  He  was 
smoking  a  huge  pipe,  and  as  he  walked  along,  with 
rather  ungainly  steps — the  gait  of  a  man  more  at  home 
in  the  saddle  than  on  foot — he  swung  an  oak  stick  this 
way  and  that,  now  and  again  throwing  it  in  the  air 
and  catching  it  again — a  trick  which  sorely  tried  the 
patience  of  his  staider  companion. 

When  they  reached  the  nearest  point  to  Doctor 
McKirdy  and  Mrs.  Rebell,  the  one  took  off  his  cap  and 
the  other  waved  his  stick  vigorously  by  way  of  greeting. 


64  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Indeed  Berwick,  as  Doctor  McKirdy  very  well  saw, 
would  have  soon  lessened  the  ten  yards  space  between 
the  two  groups,  but  Boringdon,  looking  before  him 
rather  more  straightly  than  before,  was  already 
walking  on. 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  have  now  had  your 
wish.  Ma'am  :  that  was  Mr.  Oliver  Boringdon,  and  the 
other  is  his  fidus  Achates,  Mr.  James  Berwick :  he's  a 
conceited  loon  if  you  like.  But  then  he's  more  reason 
to  be  so !  Now  what  d'ye  think  they  reminded  me  of 
as  they  walked  along  there  ?  ' ' 

**  I  don't  know,"  faltered  Barbara.  She  was  still 
feeling  as  if  a  sudden  blast  of  wind  had  beaten  across 
her  face — such  had  been  the  effect  of  the  piercing, 
measuring  glance  of  the  man  whom  she  took  to  be 
Oliver  Boringdon.  No  doubt  the  over-bold  look  was 
excused  by  the  fact  that  he  recognised  in  her  his 
sister's  friend.  Barbara  flushed  deeply;  she  was 
wondering,  with  acute  discomfort,  what  account  of 
her,  and  of  her  affairs,  Grace  Johnstone — impetuous, 
indiscreet  Grace — had  written  to  her  mother  and 
brother  ?  Oh !  surely  she  could  be  trusted  to  have 
kept  secret  certain  things  she  knew — things  which 
had  been  discovered  by  the  Johnstones,  and  admitted 
by  Barbara  in  her  first  moments  of  agonised  relief 
from  Pedro  Rebell's  half-crazy  ill-usage. 

*'  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  the  sight  of  the  two  of 
them  suggested  to  me,"  went  on  Doctor  McKirdy, 
"  and   in  fact  what   they  exactly   appeared   like,  just 

now, "    he   hesitated   a    moment,   and    then   with 

manifest  enjoyment  added,  "  The  policeman  and  the 
poacher !  That's  what  any  stranger  might  well  ha' 
taken  them  for,  eh  ?  "  But  Barbara  had  given  no  heed 
to  the  bold  gazer's  more  drab  companion. 


CHAPTER  III. 

**  Mates  are  chosen  marketwise 
Coolest  bargainer  best  buys, 
Leap  not,  nor  let  leap  the  heart ; 
Trot  your  track  and  drag  your  cart, 
So  your  end  may  be  in  wool 
Honoured  and  with  manger  full." 

George  Meredith. 

Mrs.  Boringdon,  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  at 
Chancton  Cottage,  looked,  in  spite  of  her  handsome 
dress  and  her  manner  and  appearance  of  refinement, 
strangely  unsuited  to  the  place  in  which  she  found 
herself.  Even  the  Indian  tea-table — one  of  the  few 
pieces  of  furniture  added  to  the  room  by  its  present 
occupant,  and  now  laden  with  substantial  silver  tea-pot, 
cream-jug,  and  sugar-basin  burnished  to  their  highest 
point  of  brilliancy — was  out  of  keeping  with  its  fragile 
charm.  The  room,  indeed,  had  been  scarcely  altered 
since  it  had  been  furnished,  some  sixty  years  before,  as 
a  maiden  retreat  for  one  of  Madame  Sampiero's  aunts, 
the  Miss  Lavinia  Rebell  of  whom  tradition  still  lingered 
in  the  village,  and  whose  lover  had  been  killed  in  the 
Peninsular  War. 

On  her  arrival  at  Chancton  Mrs.  Boringdon  would 
have  dearly  liked  to  consign  the  shabby  old  furniture, 
the  faded  water-colours  and  colour  prints,  to  some 
unhonoured  lumber-room  of  the  Priory,  but  even  had 
such  desecration  been  otherwise  possible,  the  new 
mistress  of  Chancton  Cottage  was  only  too  well  aware 
that  she  lacked  the  means  to  make  the  old-fashioned 

B.R.  w 


66  BARBARA   REBELL. 

house  what  she  would  have  considered  habitable. 
Indeed,  she  had  been  thankful  to  learn  that  the  estate 
agency  offered  to  her  son  through  the  intermediary  of 
his  friend,  James  Berwick,  carried  with  it  the  use  of  a 
fully  furnished  house  of  any  sort. 

Whenever  Mrs.  Boringdon  felt  more  than  usually 
dissatisfied  and  critical  of  the  furnishings  of  the  rooms 
where  she  was  fated  to  spend  so  much  of  her  time — for  she 
had  no  love  of  the  open  air — she  tried  to  remind  herself 
that  this  phase  of  her  life  was  only  temporary;  that 
soon — her  son  thought  in  two  or  three  years,  but 
Berwick  laughed  at  so  prudent  a  forecast — the  present 
Government  would  go  out,  and  then  "something" 
must  surely  be  found  for  her  clever  Oliver. 

To-day,  her  son  had  brought  his  friend  back  to  lunch, 
and  the  two  young  men  had  stayed  on  in  the  dining- 
room  and  in  the  little  smoking-room  beyond,  talking 
eagerly  the  one  with  the  other.  As  the  mother  sat  in 
her  drawing-room  patiently  longing  for  her  cup  of  tea, 
but  content  to  wait  Oliver's  good  pleasure — or  rather 
thatof  James  Berwick — she  could  hear  the  voices  rising 
and  falling,  and  she  rejoiced  to  think  of  the  intimacy 
which  those  sounds  betokened. 

Mrs.  Boringdon  was  one  of  the  many  in  whom  the 
mere  possession  of  wealth  in  others  excites  an  almost 
hypnotic  feeling  of  interest  and  goodwill.  When  in  his 
presence — nay,  when  simply  even  in  his  neighbourhood 
— she  never  forgot  that  her  son's  intimate  friend  and 
one-time  chief,  James  Berwick,  was  an  enormously  rich 
man.  That  fact  impressed  her  far  more,  and  was 
ever  more  present  to  her  mind,  than  the  considerable 
political  position  which  his  personality  and  his  wealth 
together  had  known  how  to  win  for  him.  When  with 
Berwick  Mrs.  Boringdon  was  never  wholly  at  ease, 
never  entirely  her  cool,  collected  self.    And  now  this 


BARBARA   REBELL.  67 

afternoon,  sitting  there  waiting  for  them  to  come  in 
and  join  her,  she  wondered  for  the  thousandth  time 
why  Oliver  was  not  more  amenable  to  his  important 
friend — why  he  had  not  known  how  to  make  himself 
indispensable  to  James  Berwick.  Had  there  only  been 
about  him  something  of  the  sycophant — but  Mrs. 
Boringdon  did  not  use  the  ugly  word — he  would  never 
have  been  allowed  to  slip  into  this  backwater.  She  was 
one  of  the  few  remaining  human  beings  who  believe  that 
everything  is  done  by  "  influence,"  and  she  had  never 
credited  her  son's  assurance  that  no  "job"  was  in  the 
least  likely  to  be  found  for  him. 

His  mother's  love  for  Oliver  was  tempered  by  fear; 
she  was  keenly  desirous  of  keeping  his  good  opinion, 
but  of  late,  seeing  how  almost  intolerable  to  him  was 
the  position  he  had  accepted,  she  had  been  sorely 
tempted  to  speak — to  point  out  to  him  that  men  in  the 
position  of  James  Berwick  come  to  expect  from  those 
about  them  something  like  subserviency,  and  that  then 
they  often  repay  in  lavish  measure  those  who  yield 
it  them. 

At  last  the  dining-room  door  opened  and  the  two 
men  came  in. 

**  Well,"  cried  Berwick,  "we've  thrashed  out  the 
whole  plan  of  campaign !  There's  never  anything 
like  a  good  talk  with  Oliver  to  confirm  me  in  my  own 
opinion  !  It's  really  absurd  he  should  stick  on  here 
looking  after  the  Chancton  cabbages,  dead  and  alive — 
but  he's  positively  incorruptible !  I'm  thinking  of 
starting  a  newspaper,  Mrs.  Boringdon,  and  to  coax  him 
into  approval — also,  I  must  say,  to  secure  him  a  little 
freedom — I  offered  him  the  editorship,  but  he  won't 
hear  of  it." 

Berwick  had  thrown  himself  as  he  spoke  into  a 
low  chair,  which  creaked  ominously  under  his  weight. 

F  a 


68  BARBARA   REBELL. 

How  indignant  would  Mrs.  Boringdon  have  felt  had 
any  other  young  man,  looking  as  James  Berwick  now 
looked,  his  fair  hair  tossed  and  rumpled  with  the 
constant  ruffling  of  his  fingers,  come  and  thrown  him- 
self down  in  this  free  and  easy  attitude  on  one  of 
the  few  comfortable  chairs  in  Chancton  Cottage ! 
But  his  hostess  smiled  at  him  very  indulgently,  and 
turned  a  look  of  gentle  reproach  at  her  son's  stern 
dark  face. 

"An  editorship,"  she  said,  vaguely,  "that  sounds 
very  nice.  I  suppose  it  would  mean  going  and  living 
in  London  ?  "  Her  quick  mind,  darting  this  way  and 
that,  saw  herself  settled  in  a  small  house  in  Mayfair, 
entertaining  important  people,  acting  perhaps  as  hostess 
to  Berwick's  friends  and  supporters !  She  had  once 
been  able  to  render  him  a  slight  service — in  fact,  on 
two  occasions  he  had  been  able  to  meet  a  friend,  a  lady, 
in  her  drawing-room.  In  doing  what  she  had  done 
Mrs.  Boringdon  had  lowered  herself  in  her  own  eyes, 
and  she  had  had  the  uncomfortable  sensation  that  she 
had  lost  in  his  some  of  the  prestige  naturally  attaching  to 
his  friend's  mother,  and  yet,  for  all  she  knew,  these  inter- 
views might  have  been  of  a  political  nature.  Women 
now  played  a  great  part  in  politics.  Mrs.  Boringdon 
preferred  to  think  that  the  fair  stranger,  concerning 
whose  coming  to  her  house  there  had  been  so  much 
mystery,  had  been  one  of  these. 

Her  son's  next  words  rudely  interrupted  her  pleasant 
dream. 

"The  ownership  of  a  newspaper,"  Oliver  was  saying 
abruptly,  "  has  never  yet  been  of  any  use  to  a  politician 
or  statesman,  and  has  certainly  prevented  some  from 
getting  into  the  Cabinet,"  and  he  named  two  well- 
known  members  of  Parliament  who  were  believed  to  be 
financially  interested  in  certain  important  journals.     "It 


BARBARA   REBELL.  69 

isn't  as  if  you  wanted  what  the  Americans  call  a  plat- 
form," he  went  on.  "No  man  is  more  sure  of  a  hearing 
than  you  are  yourself.  But  just  now,  the  less  you  say 
the  more  you  will  be  listened  to  when  the  moment 
comes  for  saying  it !  " 

The  speaker  was  walking  up  and  down  the  narrow 
room,  looking  restless  and  impatient,  with  Berwick 
smiling  lazily  up  at  him,  though  evidently  rather  nettled 
at  the  frank,  unasked-for  advice. 

Mrs.  Boringdon  judged  the  moment  had  come  to 
intervene.  "  I  hear  that  Lord  Bosworth  and  your 
sister  are  back  at  Fletchings,  and  that  they  are  expect- 
ing a  good  many  people  down — "  She  added,  in  a  tone 
of  apology,  "  Chancton,  as  you  know,  has  half-a-dozen 
Court  newsmen  of  its  own." 

'*To  me  " — Berwick  had  jumped  up  and  was  helping 
himself  to  sugar,  to  cake,  with  the  eager  insouciance  of  an 
intimate — "to  me  Chancton  always  has  been,  what  it  is 
now  more  than  ever,  the  most  delightful  spot  on  earth ! 
I  know  that  Oliver  doesn't  agree  with  me,  but  even  he, 
Mrs.  Boringdon,  ought  to  enjoy  the  humours  of  the 
place.  What  other  village  can  offer  such  a  range  of 
odd-come-shorts,  of  eccentrics  ?  Where  else  in  these 
prosaic  days  can  one  see  gathered  together  in  one  spot 
our  McKirdys,  our  Vipens " 

"Our  Mrs.  Turkes,"  said  Oliver  slily.  He  came 
forward  smiling,  good  humour  restored,  and  took  his 
share  of  the  good  things  his  mother  had  provided. 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  said  Berwick,  rather  hastily,  "  of  course 
we  must  throw  in  my  foster-mother — in  fact,  I'm  sure 
she  would  be  deeply  offended  at  being  left  out !  And 
then,  there's  another  thing  I  think  I  can  claim  for 
Chancton.  Here  one  may  always  expect  to  come 
across  the  unexpected !  To-day  whom  should  we  meet, 
Mrs.  Boringdon,  but  McKirdy,  wrapped  in  his  historic 


70  BARBARA   REBELL. 

plaid  and  snuff-coloured  hat,  and  accompanied  by  a 
nymph,  and  an  uncommonly  attractive  nymph  tool  " 

Mrs.  Boringdon  looked  gently  bewildered.  "  A 
nymph  !  "  she  exclaimed,  ''  do  you  mean  a  lady  ?  What 
an  extraordinary  thing  !  " 

Berwick  looked  across  at  his  hostess  and  grinned. 
Now  and  again  Oliver's  mother  actually  reminded  this 
whimsical  young  man  of  Mistress  Quickly,  and  it  was 
an  added  delight  to  picture  to  himself  her  surprise  and 
horror  if  only  she  had  known  what  was  in  his  mind. 

But  Boringdon  was  frowning.  "Nonsense!"  he 
said,  irritably,  "  From  what  I  could  see,  she  was  simply 
a  very  oddly  dressed  young  woman  !  McKirdy  has 
always  been  fond  of  making  friends  with  the  summer 
visitors,  and  he  always  prefers  strangers  to  acquaint- 
ances. I  must  say  the  doctor  is  one  of  the  Chancton 
characters  with  whom  I,  for  one,  could  well  dispense  ! 
He  was  really  insolent  to  me  yesterday,  but  there  is 
no  redress  possible  with  an  old  man  like  that.  His 
latest  notion  is  that  I  must  only  communicate  with 
Madame  Sampiero  through  him  !  " 

James  Berwick  turned  round,  and  Mrs.  Boringdon 
thought  he  looked  annoyed ;  he  always  chose  to 
regard  everything  and  everybody  connected  with  the 
Priory  as  his  very  particular  concern.  "  I  must  be  off 
now,"  he  said,  **  Arabella  has  several  people  arriving 
this  afternoon,  and  I  ought  to  be  there  to  look  after 
them.  Walk  with  me  as  far  as  the  great  gates,  old 
fellow?" 

But  Boringdon  shook  his  head.  "  Sorry  I  can't,"  he 
said,  shortly,  "  but  I'm  expecting  one  of  the  village 
boys  to  come  in  any  minute.  Kemp  promised  me  to 
talk  to  him,  to  try  and  persuade  him  to  enlist,  and  he's 
coming  up  to  tell  me  the  result." 

**  Then  you're  not  returning  to  the  Priory  to-night, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  71 

Mr.  Berwick  ?  "  a  note  of  delicate  reserve  had  come 
into  Mrs.  Boringdon's  voice  ;  she  never,  if  she  could 
help  it,  referred  to  the  Priory  or  to  the  Priory's  mistress. 
"  No,  I'm  still  at  Chillingworth.  But  I  expect  to  be 
over  just  for  the  night  to-morrow.  Then  Pm  off  for  a 
month's  yachting." 

Oliver  came  back  from  the  hall  door  and  sat  down. 
His  mother  saw  with  a  pang  how  tired  and  how 
discouraged  he  looked.  "I  think,"  she  said,  *'that 
you  might  have  done,  dear,  what  Mr.  Berwick  asked 
you  to  do — I  mean,  as  to  seeing  him  back  part  of  the 
way  to  Fletchings.  That  village  lad  could  have  waited 
for  you — and — I  suppose  it  was  all  a  joke  about  the 
new  paper  and  the  editorship  ?  " 

**  Oh  !  no,  he's  thinking  of  it,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose, 
mother,  you  never  heard  of  the  Craftsjnan,  the  paper 
in  which  the  great  Duke  of  Berwick's  friend,  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  wrote.  Some  fellow  has  been  talking  to 
him  about  it,  and  now  he  thinks  he  would  like  to 
resuscitate  it.  Incredible  that  so  shrewd  a  man  should 
sometimes  choose  to  do  such  foolish  things,  actuated, 
too,  by  the  silliest  of  sentimental  motives  !  If  I  were  he, 
I  should  feel  anything  but  proud  of  my  descent  from 
the  Stuarts.  However,  I  hope  I've  choked  him  off 
the  whole  idea." 

As  he  caught  her  look  of  fresh  disappointment,  he 
added,  with  a  certain  effort,  **  I'm  afraid,  mother,  that 
you've  as  little  reason  to  like  Chancton  as  I  have. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  we  shouldn't  do  better  to  throw 
it  all  up  and  go  to  London.  I  certainly  don't  want  to 
edit  any  paper  for  Berwick,  but  I  dare  say  I  could  get 
work,  literary  work  of  sorts  ;  and,  after  all,  I  should  be 
far  more  in  touch  there  with  the  things  I  really  care 
about," 


73  BARBARA  REBELL. 

His  tone  of  dejection  went  to  her  heart,  but  she 
answered,  not  the  last,  but  the  first  sentence  he  had 
uttered.  "  You  are  right,"  she  said,  rather  slowly,  **  I 
do  not  like  Chancton  any  better  than  you  do,  but  I 
shall  always  be  glad  we  came  here,  if  only  because 
it  has  brought  us  in  contact  with  the  Kemps — or 
perhaps  I  should  say  with  their  daughter." 

Oliver  looked  up  at  his  mother  uneasily;  he 
was  aware  that  with  her  a  confidence  was  rarely 
spontaneous. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  and  turning  she  fixed  her  eyes 
on  the  fire,  away  from  his  face,  **  I  have  often  been 
tempted  to  wonder  lately,  my  dear  boy,  what  you  really 
think  of  Lucy — how  you  regard  her  ?  Pray  do  not 
answer  me  if  you  would  rather  not  do  so." 

Boringdon  hesitated.  His  mother's  words,  her 
extreme  frankness,  took  him  completely  by  surprise; 
for  a  moment  he  felt  nearer  to  her  than  he  had  done  for 
years.  Still,  he  was  glad  that  she  went  on  staring  into 
the  fire,  and  that  he  was  safe  from  meeting  the  acute, 
probing  glance  he  knew  so  well. 

"You've  asked  me  a  very  difficult  question,"  he  said 
at  last — "one  I  find  almost  impossible  to  answer  truly." 

Mrs.  Boringdon's  hands  trembled.  She  also  felt 
unwontedly  moved.  She  had  not  expected  so  honest 
a  confession. 

But  Oliver  was  again  speaking,  in  a  low,  preoccupied 
voice.  "  Perhaps  we  have  not  been  wise,  you  and  I,  in 
having  so — so " — his  lips  sought  to  frame  suitable 
words — "  so  charming  a  girl,"  he  said  at  last,  "  con- 
stantly about  the  house.  I  have  certainly  become  fond 
of  Lucy — in  fact,  I  think  I  may  acknowledge  to  you, 
mother,  that  she  is  my  ideal  of  what  a  girl  should  be." 
How  odd,  how  inadequate,  how  priggish  his  words 
sounded  to  himself !     Still  he  went  on,  with  gathering 


BARBARA   REBELL.  73 

courage,  "  But  no  one  knows  better  than  you  do 
how  I  am  situated.  For  what  I  am  pleased  to 
call  my  political  ambitions,  you  have  already  made 
sacrifices.  If  I  am  to  do  what  I  wish  with  my  life, 
such  a  marriage — indeed,  any  marriage,  for  years  to 
come — would  be  for  me  quite  out  of  the  question.  It 
would  mean  the  condemnation  of  myself  to  such  a  life 
as  that  I  am  now  leading,  and  I  do  not  feel — perhaps  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  not  feeling — that  my  attraction 
to  Miss  Kemp  is  so  strong  as  to  make  me  desirous 
of  giving  up  all  I  have  striven  for." 

Mrs.  Boringdon  made  no  reply.  She  still  stared 
on  into  the  fire ;  a  curious  look,  one  of  perplexity 
and  hesitation,  had  come  over  her  face. 

"  Mother  !  "  he  cried,  and  the  tone  forced  her  to  look 
round  at  him,  *'  surely  you  don't  think — it  is  not  your 
impression  that  Lucy " 

**  I  think  she  has  become  very  fond  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Boringdon  dehberately.  "  But  I  confess  that  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  she  seemed  fonder  of 
me  than  of  you."  She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  but  to 
Boringdon  this  was  no  smiling  matter — indeed,  it  was 
one  which  to  his  mind  could  scarcely  be  discussed  with 
decency  by  himself  and  his  mother.  Then  a  vision 
of  Lucy  Kemp,  steady,  clear-eyed  Lucy,  almost  too 
sensible — so  the  people  at  Chancton,  he  knew,  regarded 
her  to  be — came  to  his  help.  "  No,  no,"  he  said,  with 
a  sudden  sense  of  relief,  "  I'm  quite  sure,  mother,  that 
any  feeling — I  mean  the  kind  of  feeling  of  which  we  are 
speaking — has  been  entirely  on  my  side  !  We  will  be 
more  careful.  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  I  have  been 
foolish." 

But  Mrs.  Boringdon  scarcely  heard  what  he  was 
saying.  She  who  so  seldom  doubted  as  to  her  course  of 
action,  was  now  weighing  the  pros  and  cons  of  what 


74  BARBARA   REBELL. 

had  become  to  her  a  matter  for  immediate  decision. 
Unfortunately  her  son's  next  words  seemed  to  give  her 
the  opening  she  sought. 

"  Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  think  " — OUver  had 
got  up,  he  was  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece,  looking 
down  into  his  mother's  face — **  Sometimes,  I  say,  I  am 
tempted  to  think  that  after  all  money  is  the  one  import- 
ant thing  in  life  !  When  I  look  back  to  how  I  regarded 
James  Berwick's  marriage — he  once  accused  me  of  con- 
demning what  he  did,  and  I  could  not  deny  that  I  had 
done  so — I  see  how  much  more  wise  he  was  than  I. 
Why,  to  him  that  marriage  which  so  shocked  me  was  the 
turning  point — ay,  more,  that  money,  together,  perhaps, 
with  his  wife's  death,  steadied  him — amazingly — I  refer 
of  course  to  his  intellectual  standpoint,  and  to  his  out- 
look on  life  !  And  you,  mother — you've  always  thought 
more  of  money  than  I've  ever  done.  But  even  you 
once  thought  that  it  could  be  too  dearly  purchased." 

Mrs.  Boringdon  reddened.  Her  son's  words  gratified 
her.  She  was  aware  that  he  was  alluding  to  an  offer  of 
marriage  which  she  herself  had  unhesitatingly  rejected 
at  a  time  when  her  daughter  was  still  in  the  school- 
room, and  her  son  at  Charterhouse.  Her  middle-aged 
wooer  had  been  a  man  of  some  commercial  standing  and 
much  wealth,  but  **  not  a  gentleman,"  so  the  two  pitiless 
young  people  had  decided,  and  Mrs.  Boringdon,  her  chil- 
dren believed,  had  not  hesitated  for  a  moment  between 
a  life  of  poor  gentility  and  one  of  rather  vulgar  plenty. 

'*  Oh  !  yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  money  can  certainly  be 
too  dearly  purchased.  But  still,  you  on  your  side,  you 
and  your  sister  Grace,  have  always  thought  far  too  little 
of  it.  Of  late  I  have  sometimes  wondered,  Oliver,  if 
you  knew — whether  you  are  aware"— for  the  life  of 
her  she  could  not  help  the  sudden  alteration  in  her 
measured   voice — "that   our    dear  little    friend,    Lucy 


BARBARA   REBELL.  75 

Kemp,  is  something  of  an  heiress — that  in  four  years 
time,  when  she  is  five-and-twenty,  that  is,  there  will  be 
handed  over  to  her  ^^25,000  ?  " 

And  then,  while  her  son  listened  to  her  in  complete 
silence,  giving  no  clue  as  to  how  he  regarded  the  informa- 
tion, she  explained  her  knowledge  as  having  come  to  her 
from  an  absolutely  sure  source,  from  a  certain  Miss 
Vipen,  the  chartered  gossip  of  Chancton,  whose  informa- 
tion could  be  trusted  when  actual  facts  were  in  question. 

Even  after  Mrs.  Boringdon  had  done  speaking,  Oliver 
still  sat  on,  resting  his  head  on  his  hands.  "  I  wonder 
if  Laxton  knows  of  this  ?  "  he  said  at  last.  *'  What  a 
brute  I  should  think  him  if  he  does !  "  and  Mrs. 
Boringdon  felt  keenly,  perhaps  not  unreasonably, 
irritated.  Her  son's  words  also  took  her  by  surprise — 
complete  silence  would  have  satisfied  her,  but  this  odd 
comment  on  the  fact  she  had  chosen  to  reveal  was  very 
different  from  what  she  had  expected. 

But  when,  some  three  hours  later,  the  mother  and 
son  had  iinished  their  simple  dinner,  and  Oliver 
announced  to  his  mother  that  he  must  now  go  down  to 
the  Grange  for  half  an  hour  in  order  to  consult  General 
Kemp  over  that  village  lad  whose  conduct  was  giving 
Oliver  so  much  trouble,  Mrs.  Boringdon  smiled.  Her 
son  caught  the  smile  and  it  angered  him.  How  utterly 
his  mother  misunderstood  him,  how  curiously  little  they 
were  in  sympathy  the  one  with  the  other  ! 

As  he  left  the  house  she  heard  the  door  bang,  and 
sitting  in  the  drawing-room  knitting  him  a  pair  of  silk 
socks,  she  allowed  her  smile  to  broaden  till  it  transformed 
her  face  almost  to  that  likeness  which  Berwick  some- 
times saw  in  her,  to  that  of  a  prim  Mistress  Quickly. 

Boringdon  did  not  go  straight  down  to  the  Grange. 
Instead,  after  having  groped  his  way  through  the  laurel 


76  BARBARA   REBELL. 

hedges  and  so  into  the  moonlit  road,  he  turned  to  the 
left,  and  struck  out,  making  a  long  round  before  seeking 
the  house  for  which  he  was  bound. 

Both  his  long  talk  with  Berwick,  and  the  short,  strange 
conversation  with  his  mother,  had  disturbed  and  excited 
him,  bringing  on  a  sudden  nostalgia  for  the  life  he  had 
left,  and  to  which  he  longed  so  much  to  get  back. 
During  his  eager  discussion  with  the  man  whom  he 
regarded  as  being  at  once  his  political  chief  and  his 
political  pupil,  Chancton  and  its  petty  affairs  had  been 
forgotten,  and  yet  now,  to-night,  he  told  himself  with 
something  like  dismay  that  even  when  talking  to 
Berwick  he  had  more  than  once  thought  of  Lucy  Kemp. 
The  girl  had  become  his  friend,  his  only  confidante  :  into 
her  eager  ears  he  had  poured  out  his  views,  his  aspira- 
tions, his  hopes,  his  ambitions,  sure  always  of  sympathy, 
if  not  of  complete  understanding.  A  bitter  smile  came 
over  his  face— no  wonder  Mrs.  Boringdon  had  so  often 
left  them  together  !     Her  attitude  was  now  explained. 

Boringdon  had  no  wish  to  pose,  even  to  himself,  as 
a  Don  Quixote,  but,  in  his  views  as  to  the  fitting  relation- 
ship of  the  sexes,  he  w^as  most  punctilious  and  old- 
fashioned,  perhaps  lacking  the  essential  nobility  which 
would  have  been  required  in  such  a  man  as  himself  to 
accept  a  fortune,  even  from  a  beloved  hand.  What, 
take  Lucy's  £"20,000 — or  was  it  ;^25,ooo — in  order  to 
start  his  bark  once  more  on  the  perilous  political  sea  ? 
How  little  his  mother  understood  him  if  she  seriously 
thought  he  could  bring  himself  to  do  such  a  thing,  and 
in  cold  blood  ! 

As  he  strode  along  in  the  darkness,  there  came  back 
to  his  mind  the  circumstances  connected  with  an 
experience  in  his  life  which  he  had  striven  not  unsuccess- 
fully to  forget, — the  passion  of  feeling  he  had  wasted, 
when  little  more  than  a  boy,  on  James  Berwick's  sister. 


BARBARA    REBELL.  ^^ 

Those  men  and  women  who  jeer  at  first  love  have 
surely  never  felt  its  potent  spell.  Twelve  years  had 
gone  by  since  Boringdon  had  dreamed  the  dream  which 
had  to  a  certain  extent  embittered  and  injured  the  whole 
of  his  youth.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  !  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  so  he  remembered  now,  how  little  he  had 
thought — if  indeed  he  had  thought  at  all — as  to  any 
question  connected  with  Arabella  Berwick's  fortune  or 
lack  of  it ! 

Miss  Berwick  had  been  mistress  of  her  uncle's  house, 
that  Lord  Bosworth  who  was  a  noted  statesman  as 
well  as  a  man  of  rank  :  of  course  she  must  have  money, 
so  Boringdon  in  his  young  simplicity  had  thought,  and 
certainly  that  belief  had  been  no  bar  to  what  he  had 
brought  himself  tremblingly  to  believe  might  come  to 
pass.  The  beautiful  girl,  secure  in  her  superior  altitude 
of  twenty-five  years  of  life,  and  an  already  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  world,  had  taken  up  the  clever  boy, 
her  brother's  Oxford  friend,  with  pretty  enthusiasm. 
She  had  liked  him  quite  well  enough  to  accept  smilingly 
his  adoration,  to  allow  that  he  should  amuse  her  (so  he  had 
realised  ever  since)  in  the  intervals  of  a  more  serious  love 
affair.  Well,  as  he  reminded  himself  to-night,  they  had 
been  quits  !  Small  wonder  indeed  that  even  now,  after 
twelve  years  had  gone  by,  the  recollection  of  certain  bitter 
moments  caused  Boringdon  to  quicken  his  footsteps  ! 

To-night  it  all  came  back  to  him,  in  a  flood  of  intole- 
rable memories.  It  had  been  late  in  the  season,  on  the 
eve — or  so  he  had  thought — of  his  dream's  fruition, 
during  the  last  days  of  his  first  spring  and  summer  in 
London  after  he  had  gone  down  from  Oxford.  Some 
merciful  angel  or  some  malicious  devil — he  had  never 
quite  known  which— had  caused  him,  one  Sunday  after- 
noon, while  actually  on  the  way  to  Bosworth  House,  to 
turn  into  Kensington  Gardens. 


78  BARBARA   REBELL. 

There,  in  a  lonely  grassy  by-way  among  the  trees, 
where  he  had  turned  aside  to  think  in  solitude  of  his 
beautiful  lady,  he  had  suddenly  come  on  her  face  to 
face, — on  Arabella  Berwick,  on  his  goddess,  on  the 
woman  whose  every  glance  and  careless  word  had  been 
weighed  by  him  with  anxious  thought, — finding  her  in 
such  a  guise  that  for  a  moment  he  had  believed  that 
his  mind,  his  eyes,  were  playing  him  some  evil  trick. 

Miss  Berwick,  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  was 
clinging  to  a  man's  arm;  and,  what  made  the  scene 
the  more  unreal,  the  more  incredible,  to  the  amazed 
onlooker,  Boringdon  knew  the  man  quite  well,  and  had 
often,  in  his  young  importance,  looked  down  on  him  as 
being  so  much  less  intimate  at  Bosworth  House  than 
he  was  himself.  The  man  into  whose  plain,  powerful 
face  Arabella  Berwick  was  gazing  with  such  agonised 
intensity  was  Daniel  O'Flaherty,  an  Irish  barrister,  but 
lately  come  to  practise  at  the  English  Bar,  a  Paddy 
whose  brogue — so  Berwick  had  assured  his  friend 
Boringdon — you  could  cut  with  a  knife,  but  who  was,  he 
had  added  good-naturedly,  said  by  many  people  to  be 
a  clever  fellow  ! 

And  now  Oliver  was  walking  straight  upon  them, — 
on  O'Flaherty  and  Arabella  Berwick.  He  stopped 
short,  staring  with  fascinated,  horror-stricken  eyes, 
making  no  effort  to  pass  by,  to  show  the  decent 
hypocrisy  he  should  have  shown;  and  what  he 
heard  made  it  only  too  easy  to  reconstitute  the 
story.  Miss  Berwick  had  also  dreamed  her  dream, 
and  she  was  now  engaged  in  deliberately  putting  it 
from  her. 

At  last  the  man  had  cut  the  painful  scene  short,  but 
not  before  Boringdon  had  seen  the  woman,  whom  he 
had  himself  set  on  so  high  a  pedestal,  fling  her  arms 
round   her   companion's   neck    in   one   last    agonised 


BARBARA   REBELL.  79 

attempt  to  say  good-bye.  It  was  the  Irishman,  of 
whom  Boringdon  had  made  such  small  account  in  his 
own  mind,  who  at  last — with  the  measured  dignity 
born  of  measureless  grief  and  loss — led  her  towards 
the  spectator  whom  he  vaguely  recognised  as  one  of 
James  Berwick's  younger  friends.  **  Perhaps  you  will 
kindly  take  Miss  Berwick  home  ? "  and  then  he  had 
turned  and  gone,  and  she  who  had  renounced  him, 
taking  no  heed  of  Boringdon,  had  stood  and  gazed 
after  him  as  long  as  he  remained  in  sight. 

During  the  walk  back  to  Bosworth  House  it  had  been 
Boringdon's  lot  to  listen  while  his  companion  told  him, 
with  a  sort  of  bald  simplicity,  the  truth. 

**  I  love  him,  Mr.  Boringdon,  with  all  my  heart — 
with  all  my  body — with  all  my  soul  1  But  certain 
things  are  impossible  in  this  world, — apart  from  every- 
thing else,  there  is  the  fact  that  for  the  present  we  are 
both  penniless.  He  admits  that  often  years  go  by  before 
a  man  situated  as  he  is  makes  any  real  way  at  the  Bar. 
I  ought  not  to  have  allowed  it  to  come  to  this  !  I  have 
been  a  fool, — a  fool !  "  She  had  tried  to  smile  at  him. 
*'  Take  example  by  me,  Mr.  Boringdon,  never  allow 
yourself  to  really  care.     It's  not  worth  it !  " 

She  had  gone  on,  taking  very  little  notice  of  him, 
talking  as  if  to  herself — "  Of  course  I  shall  never 
marry,  why  should  I  ?  I  have  James, — till  now  I  have 
never  cared  for  anything  but  James."  Then  at  last  had 
come  a  word  he  had  felt  sorely.  Arabella  Berwick  had 
looked  at  him  with  something  like  fear  in  her  eyes, — 
**  You  will  not  say  anything  of  this  to  my  brother, 
Mr.  Boringdon  ?  I  trust  to  3'Our  honour," — much  as  she 
might  have  spoken  to  a  schoolboy,  instead  of  to  a  man — 
a  man,  as  he  angrily  reminded  himself,  of  one-and- 
twenty ! 

How  well  he  remembered  it  all  still,  and  yet  what  a 


8o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

long  time  ago  all  that  happened !  He  himself  had 
altered,  incredibly,  in  these  short  years.  O'Flaherty 
was  no  longer  an  unknown,  uncouth  Irishman  :  he  had 
won  a  place  even  in  the  Berwicks'  high  little  world : 
steady,  moderate  adherence  to  his  country's  unpopular 
cause  had  made  him  something  of  a  personage  even  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  he  was  known  to  be  now 
earning  a  large, — nay,  a  huge, — income  at  the  Bar.  Of 
the  two  men  who  at  one  and  the  same  moment  had 
loved  Arabella  Berwick,  it  was  he  who  had  forged 
ahead,  Oliver  Boringdon  who  had  lagged  behind. 

And  the  heroine  of  the  adventure  ?  She  was  still 
what  all  those  about  her,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
these  two  men,  had  always  thought  her  to  be — the 
accomplished,  rather  cold,  brilliant  woman  of  the 
world,  content  to  subordinate  exceptional  intellectual 
gifts  to  the  exigencies  of  her  position  as  mistress  of  her 
uncle's  house ;  bending  her  fine  mind  to  the  problem 
of  how  to  stretch  Lord  Bosworth's  always  uncertain 
and  encumbered  income  to  its  furthest  possible  limit, 
for  one  of  Miss  Berwick's  virtues  had  always  been  a 
great  horror  of  debt.  More,  she  had  so  fashioned  her 
life  during  the  last  ten  years  that  she  was  regarded  by 
many  shrewd  observers  as  being  quite  as  remarkable  a 
person  as  her  brother — in  fact,  where  he  was  concerned, 
the  power  behind  the  throne.  She  loved,  too,  to 
exercise  her  power,  to  obtain  good  places  for  her 
favourites,  to  cause  some  humble  climber  of  the  ladder 
of  fame  to  leap  at  one  bound  several  of  the  hard  inter- 
vening bars.  It  was  admitted  that  the  only  strong 
feeling  finding  place  in  her  heart  was  love  of  her 
brother,  James  Berwick,  and  for  him,  in  a  worldly 
sense,  she  had  indeed  done  well. 

Since  that  afternoon,  twelve  years  before.  Miss 
Berwick  and  Oliver  Boringdon  had  never  been  on 


BARBARA   REBELL.  8i 

really  cordial  terms.  She  had  at  first  tried,  foolishly, 
to  make  a  friend  of  him,  a  confidant,  but  he  had  not 
been  possessed  of  the  requisite  amount  of  philosophy, 
and  she  had  drawn  back  mortified  at  the  condemnation, 
even  at  the  dislike,  which  she  had  read  in  his  eyes. 

Very  early  Berwick  had  said  to  his  friend,  **  I  don't 
know  what  has  happened  to  my  sister  and  yourself,  old 
fellow,  but  it  will  not  make  any  difference  to  us,  will 
it  ?  "  But,  as  Boringdon  was  well  aware,  it  had  made 
a  difference.  The  sister's  influence  was  on  the  whole 
always  thrown  in  against  that  of  the  friend.  It  had 
certainly  not  been  with  Miss  Berwick's  goodwill  that 
Boringdon  had  been  offered,  through  her  brother's 
intermediary,  work  which  would  bring  him  within  two 
miles  of  Lord  Bosworth's  country  house;  but  Oliver 
Boringdon  was  very  rarely  at  Fletchings,  and  never 
without  a  direct  invitation  from  its  mistress. 

As  so  often  happens,  the  stirring  of  heart  depths 
brings  up  to  the  surface  of  the  mind  more  than  one 
emotion.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  mother's  smile, 
Boringdon  would  not  now  have  turned  into  the  Grange 
gate,  but  it  was  his  great  wish  that  what  had  been  said 
this  day  should  make  no  difference  to  his  relations  with 
the  Kemps — save,  of  course,  that  of  making  him  per- 
sonally more  prudent  in  the  one  matter  of  his  indulging 
in  Lucy's  society. 

Alas  for  Boringdon's  good  resolutions !  He  had 
meant  that  this  evening  call  at  the  Grange  should  be  of 
a  purely  business  character,  and  at  the  door  he  asked 
only  for  General  Kemp. 

"  The  master's  upstairs  with  Mrs.  Kemp.  She's  got 
a  chill,  but  I'll  tell  him  you're  here,  sir,"  and  Oliver 
had  been  shown  as  a  matter  of  course  into  the  panelled 
parlour  where  Lucy  sat  reading  alone.     The  very  sight 

B.R.  a 


82  BARBARA   REBELL. 

of  the  girl  seemed  to  bring  with  it  peace — restored  in 
subtle  measure  the  young  man's  good  opinion  of  him- 
self. And  then  she  seemed  so  simply,  so  unaffectedly 
glad  to  see  him  !  Within  the  next  hour,  he  was 
gradually  brought  to  tell  her,  both  of  the  long  talk  with 
Berwick — Lucy  had  proved  an  apt  student  of  political 
economy  within  the  last  year — even  of  the  proposed 
newspaper  and  the  editorship,  of  which  the  offer, 
coming  from  anyone  else,  would,  he  said,  **  have 
tempted  me." 

*'  Ah !  but  you  think  Mr.  Berwick  ought  not  to 
start  such  a  paper — that  it  might  do  him  harm  ?  " 
Lucy  looked  up  with  quick  intelligent  eyes. 

Boringdon  had  scarcely  said  so, — in  so  many  words, — 
yet,  yet — certainly  yes,  that  was  what  he  had  meant, 
and  so,  "  Exactly ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  and  if  I  don't  join 
in,  the  scheme  will  probably  come  to  nothing."  Lucy 
allowed  her  softened  gaze  to  linger  on  the  face  of  the 
man  who  had  gradually  made  his  way  into  her  steadfast 
heart.  How  good,  how  noble  he  was,  she  thought,  and, 
how  unconscious  of  his  own  goodness  and  nobility  ! 

The  girl  was  in  that  stage  of  her  mental  development 
when  the  creature  worshipped  must  necessarily  appear 
heroic.  Two  men  now  fulfilled  Lucy's  ideal — the  one 
was  her  father,  the  other  Oliver  Boringdon.  Poor 
Laxton,  with  his  humble  passion  for  herself,  his  half- 
pretended  indifference  to  the  pleasures  and  duties  of 
the  British  officer's  life  in  time  of  profound  peace,  his 
love  of  hunting  and  rough  out-door  games, — all  seemed 
to  make  him  most  unheroic  in  Lucy's  eyes.  She  was 
dimly  aware  that  Captain  Laxton's  love  for  her  was 
instinctive,  that  he  was  attracted  in  spite  of  himself; 
and  the  knowledge  perplexed  and  angered  her.  She 
knew  well,  or  thought  she  knew  well,  the  sort  of 
woman  with  whom  the  young  soldier  ought  to  have 


BARBARA  REBELL.  83 

fallen  in  love, — the  well-dressed,  amusing,  "smart" 
(odious  word,  just  then  coming  into  fashion !)  type  of 
girl,  whom  he  undoubtedly,  even  as  it  was,  much 
admired.  But  Oliver  Boringdon — oh  1  how  different 
would  be  the  natural  ideal  of  such  a  man. 

Lucy  was  only  now  beginning  to  see  into  her  own 
heart,  and  she  still  believed  that  her  regard  for 
Boringdon  was  **  friendship."  Who  could  hesitate  as 
to  which  was  the  better  part — friendship  with 
Boringdon,  or  marriage  with  Laxton  ? 

"  I — I  want  to  ask  you  something."  Lucy's  heart 
was  beating  fast. 

**  Yes,  what  is  it  ?  "    He  turned  sharply  round. 

"  I've  been  reading  the  life  of  Edmund  Burke." 

He  bent  forward  eagerly.  **  It's  interesting,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  it  is  !  But  I  want  to  ask  you  why 
a  hundred  years  have  made  such  a  change  ?  why  it 
is  that  now  a  young  man  who  has  every  aptitude  for 

political  life "     Lucy  hesitated,  the  words  were  not 

really  her  own,  they  had  been  suggested — almost  put 
into  her  mouth — by  Oliver's  mother. 

**  Yes  ?  "  he  said  again,  as  if  to  encourage  her. 

"  Why   such   a   person   cannot   now  accept   money 
from — from — a  friend,  if  it  will  help  him  to  be  useful 
to  his  country?  " 

**  You  mean  " — he  went  straight  to  the  point — **  why 
cannot  I  take  money  from  James  Berwick  ?  "  He  was 
looking  at  her  rather  grimly.  He  had  not  thought  that 
Mrs.  Boringdon  would  find  the  girl  so  apt  a  pupil. 

Poor  Lucy  shrank  back.  **  Forgive  me,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  "  I  should  not  have  asked  you  such  a 
question." 

"  You  have  every  right,"  he  said,  impulsively.  "Are 
we  not  friends,  you  and  I  ?     Perhaps  you  did  not  know 

G  a 


84  BARBARA   REBELL. 

that  this  was  an  old  quarrel  between  my  mother  and 
myself.  Berwick  did  once  make  me  such  an  offer,  but 
I  think  you  will  see — that  you  will  feel — with  me  that  I 
could  not  have  accepted  it." 

General  Kemp,  coming  down  half  an  hour  later, 
found  them  still  eagerly  discussing  Edmund  Burke, 
and  so  finding,  told  himself,  and  a  little  later  told  his 
wife,  that  the  world  had  indeed  changed  in  the  last 
thirty  years,  and  that  he,  for  his  part,  thought  the  old 
ways  of  love  were  better  than  the  new. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  II  est  plus  aise  d'etre  sage  pour  les  autres  que  de  I'fitre  pour 
soi-mfime." 

La  Rochefoucauld. 

Chancton  Priory  had  been,  from  his  earliest  boy- 
hood, even  more  James  Berwick's  home  than  was  his 
uncle's  house  over  at  Fletchings,  and  it  was  incom- 
parably dearer  to  him  in  every  sense  than  Chilling- 
worth,  which  came  to  him  from  his  dead  wife,  together 
with  the  huge  fortune  which  gave  him  such  value  in 
Mrs.  Boringdon's  eyes.  The  mistress  of  the  Priory  had 
always  lavished  on  Lord  Bosworth's  nephew  a  measure 
of  warm  affection  which  she  might  just  as  reasonably 
have  bestowed  on  his  only  sister,  but  Miss  Berwick 
was  not  loved  at  Chancton  Priory,  and,  being  well 
aware  that  this  was  so,  she  rarely  came  there.  Indeed, 
her  brother's  real  love  for  the  place,  and  for  Madame 
Sampiero,  was  to  her  somewhat  inexplicable :  she 
knew  that  at  the  Priory  he  felt  far  more  at 
home  than  he  was  at  Fletchings,  and  the  knowledge 
irked  her. 

In  truth,  to  James  Berwick  one  of  the  greatest 
charms  of  Chancton  Priory  had  come  to  be  the  fact 
that  when  there  he  was  able  almost  to  forget  the  wealth 
which  had  come  to  him  with  such  romantic  fulness 
when  he  was  only  four-and-twenty.  Madame  Sampiero, 
Doctor  McKirdy,  and  Mrs.  Turke  never  seemed  to 
remember  that  he  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 


86  BARBARA   REBELL. 

kingdom,   and  this   made   his   commerce   with    them 
singularly  agreeable. 

Certain  men  and  women  have  a  curious  power  of 
visualising  that  fifth  dimension  which  lies  so  near  and 
yet  so  far  from  this  corporeal  world.  For  these  favoured 
few,  unseen  presences  sometimes  seem  to  cast  visible 
shadows — their  intuition  may  now  and  then  be  at  fault, 
but  on  the  other  hand,  invisible  guides  will  sometimes 
lead  them  into  beautiful  secret  pastures,  of  which  the 
boundaries  are  closely  hidden  from  those  of  their  fellows 
who  only  cultivate  the  obvious.  It  was  so  with  James 
Berwick,  and,  as  again  so  often  happens,  this  odd  power 
— not  so  much  of  second  sight  as  of  divination — was 
quite  compatible  with  much  that  was  positive,  prosaic, 
and  even  of  the  earth  earthy,  in  his  nature  and  character. 
He  attributed  his  undoubted  gift  to  his  Stuart  blood,  and 
was  fond  of  reminding  himself  that  the  Old  Pretender 
was  said  always  to  recognise  a  traitor  when  approached 
by  one  in  the  guise  of  a  loyal  servant  and  friend. 

On  the  afternoon  following  that  spent  by  him  at  the 
Boringdons',  Berwick  walked  across  to  Chancton  from 
Fletchings.  He  came  the  short  way  through  the 
Priory  park — that  which  finally  emerged  by  a  broad 
grass  path  into  the  lawn  spreading  before  the  Eliza- 
bethan front  of  the  great  mass  of  buildings.  As  he 
moved  across,  towards  the  porch,  he  thought  the  fine 
old  house  looked  more  alive  and  less  deserted  than 
usual,  and  having  passed  through  the  vestibule,  and  so 
into  the  vast  hall,  he  became  at  once  aware  of  some 
influence  new  to  the  place. 

He  looked  about  him  with  an  eager,  keen  glance.  A 
large  log  fire  was  burning  in  the  cavernous  chimney, 
but  then  he  knew  himself  to  be  expected  :  to  that 
same  cause  he  attributed  the  rather  unusual  sight  of  a 


^       BARBARA   REBELL.  87 

china  bowl  full  of  autumn  flowers  reflected  in  the  polished 
mahogany  round  table,  on  which,  as  he  drew  near,  he 
saw  three  letters,  addressed  in  McKirdy's  stiff  clear 
handwriting,  lying  ready  for  the  post.  Berwick,  hardly 
aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  glanced  idly  down  at 
them  :  then,  as  he  moved  rather  hastily  away,  he  lifted 
his  eyebrows  in  surprise — one  was  addressed  to  his 
sister.  Miss  Arabella  Berwick,  at  Fletchings;  yet 
another,  with  every  possible  formality  of  address,  to 
the  Duchess  of  Appleby  and  Kendal,  at  Halnakeham 
Castle;  while  the  third  bore  the  name  of  another  great 
lady  living  some  ten  miles  from  Chancton,  and  to 
whom — Berwick  would  have  been  ready  to  lay  any 
wager — no  communication  had  been  sent  from  the 
Priory  for  some  twenty  odd  years,  though  both  she  and 
the  kindly  Duchess  had  in  the  long  ago  been  intimate 
with  Madame  Sampiero. 

Once  more  Berwick  looked  round  the  hall,  and  then, 
abruptly,  went  out  again  into  the  open  air,  and  so  made 
his  way  across  at  right  angles  to  a  glass  door  giving 
direct  access  to  a  small  room  hung  with  sporting  prints 
and  caricatures,  unaltered  since  the  time  it  had  been 
the  estate  room  of  Madame  Sampiero's  father.  Here, 
at  least,  Berwick  felt  with  satisfaction,  everything  was 
absolutely  as  usual.  He  went  through  into  a  narrow 
passage,  up  a  short  steep  staircase  to  the  upper  floor, 
and  so  to  the  old-fashioned  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
which  no  one  but  he  ever  occupied,  and  which  were 
both  still  filled  with  his  schoolboy  and  undergraduate 
treasures.  There  was  a  third  room  on  each  of  the 
floors  composing  the  two-storied  building  which  had 
been  added  to  the  Priory  some  fifty  years  before,  and 
these  extra  rooms — two  downstairs,  one  upstairs — were 
sacred  to  Mrs.  Turke. 

There,   as   Berwick  well   knew,  she  cherished   the 


88  BARBARA  REBELL. 

mahogany  cradle  in  which  she  had  so  often  rocked  him 
to  sleep :  there  were  photographs  of  himself  at  every 
age,  to  which,  of  late  years  political  caricatures  had  been 
added,  and  there  also  were  garnered  the  endless  gifts  he 
had  made  and  was  always  making  to  his  old  nurse. 
James  Berwick  had  been  sadly  spoilt  by  the  good 
things  life  had  heaped  on  him  in  almost  oppressive 
lavishness,  but  no  thought  of  personal  convenience 
would  have  made  him  give  up,  when  at  the  Priory, 
these  two  rooms — this  proximity  to  the  elderly  woman 
to  whom  he  was  so  dear,  and  who  had  tended  him  so 
devotedly  through  a  delicate  and  fretful  childhood. 

As  he  walked  about  his  bedroom,  he  looked  round 
him  well  pleased.  A  good  fire  was  burning  in  the 
grate,  still  compassed  about  with  a  nursery  fender,  and 
his  evening  clothes,  an  old  suit  always  kept  by  him  at 
Chancton,  were  already  laid  out  on  the  four-post  bed. 
Everything  was  exactly  as  he  would  have  wished  to 
find  it ;  and  so  seeing,  he  suddenly  frowned,  most 
unreasonably.  Why  was  it,  he  asked  himself,  that 
only  here,  only  at  the  Priory,  were  things  done  for  him 
as  he  would  have  always  wished  them  to  be — that  is, 
noiselessly,  invisibly  ?  His  own  servants  over  at 
Chillingworth  never  made  him  so  comfortable !  But 
then,  as  he  was  fond  of  reminding  himself,  he  was  one 
of  those  men  who  dislike  to  be  dependent  on  others. 
A  nice  regard,  perhaps,  for  his  own  dignity  had  always 
caused  him  to  dispense  with  the  services  of  the  one 
dependant  to  whom,  we  are  told,  his  master  can  never 
hope  to  be  a  hero. 

There  came  a  knock,  a  loud  quavering  tap-tap  on 
the  door.  Berwick  walked  forward  and  opened  it  him- 
self, then  put  his  arms  round  Mrs.  Turke's  fat  neck,  and 
kissed  her  on  each  red  cheek.  The  mauve  and  white 
striped  gown  was  new  to  him,  but  each  piece  of  handsome 


BARBARA   REBELL.  89 

jewellery  set  about  the  substantial  form  had  been 
his  gift.  **  Well,  Turke  !  well,  old  Turkey !  it's  an  age 
since  I've  seen  you  all  1  I  was  in  the  village  for  a 
moment  yesterday " 

**  For  a  moment  ?  Fie,  Mr.  James,  I  know  all 
about  it,  sir !     You  was  at  the  Cottage  for  hours  !  " 

"  Well,  I  really  hadn't  a  minute  to  come  over  here  ! 
But  make  me  welcome  now  that  I  am  come,  eh 
Turkey?" 

"  Welcome  ?  Why,  bless  you,  sir,  you  know  well 
enough  that  you're  as  welcome  as  flowers  in  May  !  We 
have  missed  you  dreadful  all  this  summer !  I  can't 
think  why  gentlemen  should  want  to  go  to  such  out- 
landish spots :  I  looked  out  the  place  in  *  Peter  Parley,' 
that  I  did,  and  I  used  to  shake  in  my  bed  when  I  thought 
of  all  you  must  be  going  through,  when  you  might  be 
at  home,  here,  with  everything  nice  and  comfortable 
about  you." 

**  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Turkey — you  can  tell 
McGregor  to  lay  dinner  in  the  business  room  to-night, 
and  you  shall  have  it  with  me." 

As  if  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  he  added,  "  And  we'll 
have  beans  and  bacon  !  " 

Mrs.  Turke  went  off  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  **  In 
October!"  she  cried.  "Why,  my  lamb,  where's  all 
your  fine  learning  gone  to  ?  Not  but  what,  thanks  to 
glass  and  the  stoves,  the  fruits  of  the  earth  do  appear 
at  queer  times  nowadays,  but  it  would  be  a  sin  to  waste 
glass  and  stoves  on  beans !  " 

Berwick  was  not  one  whit  abashed,  **  If  we  can't 
have  broad  beans,  we  can  have  toasted  cheese.  My 
sister  has  got  a  French  chef  at  Fletchings,  and  luncheon 
to-day  was — well,  you  know,  Turkey  !  " 

"  I  know,  sir,  just  kickshaws !  Taking  the  bread 
out  of  honest  Englishwomen's  mouths.     I'd  chef  him  i  " 


go  BARBARA   REBELL. 

and  Berwick  realised  from  the  expression  of  her  face 
that  Mrs.  Turke  thought  to  chef  was  French  for  to  cook. 

But  there  was  a  more  important  matter  now  in  hand 
to  be  discussed,  and  she  said  slily,  **  You'll  have  better 
company  than  me  to-night,  Mr.  James, — you'll  have  to 
put  on  your  company  manners,  sir,  for  there's  a  lady 
staying  here  now,  you  know." 

"  A  lady  ?  "  he  cried,  "  the  devil  there  is !  " 

**  You  remember  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Rebell, 
surelye  ?  They  were  here  constant, — now  let  me  see,  a 
matter  of  twenty-five  years  ago  and  more,  when  you, 
Mr.  James,  were  ten  years  old,  my  dear." 

"What?  "  he  said,  his  tone  suddenly  altering,  "do 
you  mean — surely  you  cannot  mean  that  poor  Richard 
Rebell's  daughter  is  staying  here — in  the  Priory  ? — 
now  ?  ** 

'*  Yes,  that's  just  what  she  is  doing — staying." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  in  an  altered  voice,  "  perhaps  after 
all  I  had  better  go  back  to  Chillingworth  to-night."  He 
added  abruptly,  **  She  married  (her  name  is  Barbara,  isn't 
it  ?)  one  of  the  West  Indian  Rebells.     Is  he  here  too  ?  " 

Mrs.  Turke  folded  her  hands  together,  and  shook  her 
head  sadly,  but  with  manifest  enjoyment.  It  was  well  that 
Mr.  James  knew  nothing,  and  that  it  had  been  her  part 
to  tell  the  great  news.  "  Oh  no,  we  never  mention  him  ; 
his  name  is  never  heard!  From  what  I  can  make  out 
from  the  doctor, — but  you  know,  Mr.  James,  what  he's 
like, — the  poor  young  lady,  I  mean  Mrs.  Rebell,  has 
been  most  unlucky,  matrimonially  speaking ;  just  like 
— you  know  who,  sir " 

"  Oh  !  she's  left  her  husband,  has  she  ?  It  seems  to  run 
in  the  family.     Has  she  been  here  long,  Turkey  ?  " 

**  Only  since  the  day  before  yesterday.  But  Madam 
has  already  took  to  her  wonderful ;  she  does  the  morning 
reading  now." 


BARBARA  REBELL.  91 

**  I  should  think  that  would  be  a  great  improvement 
on  McKirdy's.  But,  by  the  way,  isn't  McKirdy 
jealous  ? " 

Mrs.  Turke  shook  her  finger  at  the  speaker.  **  That's 
only  your  fun  now,  Mr.  James !  What  call  would  the 
doctor  have  to  be  such  a  thing  as  jealous  ?  Fie ! 
Besides,  he's  quite  taken  to  her  himself." 

**  Why  then,  the  girl  we  saw  with  McKirdy  yesterday 
must  have  been  Mrs.  Rebell !  A  tall,  dark,  slim 
creature,  eh,  Turkey  ?  Very  oddly  dressed  ? "  He 
turned  and  looked  hard  at  his  old  nurse ;  she,  in  return, 
gave  her  nurseling  a  quick  shrewd  glance  from  out  of 
her  bright  little  eyes. 

"She's  not  what  I  call  dressed  at  all,"  she  said,  "I 
never  did  see  a  young  lady  so  shabby,  but  there,  out  in 

those  hot  climates "  she  paused  tolerantly.    **  Never 

mind ;  we'll  soon  make  that  all  right.  Madam  set 
Leonie  to  work  at  once.  As  for  looks,"  Mrs.  Turke 
bridled,  "  Mrs.  Rebell  favours  her  poor  papa  more  than 
she  does  her  poor  mamma,"  she  said,  primly,  "  but  she's 
a  very  pleasant-spoken  young  lady.  I  do  think  you'll 
like  her,  Mr.  James ;  and  if  I  was  you,  sir,  I  would 
make  up  my  mind  to  stay  to-night  and  to  be  kind  to 
her.     I  don't  think  you'll  want  much  pressing " 

Again  she  gave  him  that  quick  shrewd  look  which 
seemed  to  say  so  much  more  than  her  lips  uttered. 
Sometimes  Berwick  felt  an  uncomfortable  conviction 
that  very  little  he  thought  and  did  remained  hidden 
from  his  old  nurse.  To-night,  as  Mrs.  Turke  had  felt 
quite  sure  he  would  do,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  remain 
at  Chancton  Priory  and  to  follow,  in  this  matter  of  Mrs. 
Rebell,  the  advice  given  him. 

Meanwhile,  the  subject  of  their  discussion  was  sitting 
on  a  stool  at  the  foot  of  her  godmother's  couch.     It 


92  BARBARA  REBELL. 

was  strange  how  two  days  of  constant  communion  with 
this  stricken  woman  had  impressed  Barbara  Rebell 
with  a  sense  of  Madame  Sampiero's  power  of  protecting 
and  sheltering  those  over  whom  was  thrown  the  mantle 
of  her  affection.  The  whole  of  Barbara's  past  life,  her 
quiet  childhood,  her  lonely  girlhood,  even  the  years  she 
had  spent  with  Pedro  Rebell,  had  accustomed  her  to 
regard  solitude  as  a  normal  state,  and  she  now  looked 
forward  eagerly  to  what  so  many  would  have  considered 
the  long  dull  stretch  of  days  spread  out  before  her. 

All  she  desired,  but  that  most  ardently,  was  to 
become  dear, — she  would  whisper  to  herself,  perhaps 
necessary, — to  Madame  Sampiero.  The  physical  state 
others  might  have  regarded  with  repugnance  and 
horror  produced  no  such  effect  on  Barbara's  mind 
and  imagination.  All  the  tenderness  of  a  heart  long 
starved,  and  thrown  back  on  itself  and  on  the  past,  was 
now  beginning  to  be  lavished  on  this  paralysed  woman 
who  had  made  her  so  generously  welcome,  and  who, 
she  intuitively  felt,  was  making  so  great  and  so  gallant 
a  stand  against  evil  fortune. 

Even  to-night  Mrs.  Rebell,  coming  into  the  room, 
had  been  struck  by  the  mingled  severity  and  splendour 
of  Madame  Sampiero's  appearance.  The  white  velvet 
gown,  the  black  lace  cross-over,  and  the  delicate 
tracery  of  the  black  coif  heightened  the  beauty  of  the 
delicate  features, — intensified  the  fire  in  the  blue  eyes, 
as  a  brighter  scheme  of  colouring  had  not  known  how 
to  do. 

L6onie — the  lean,  clever-looking,  deft-fingered  French 
maid  who  had  grown  old  in  the  service  of  her  mistress 
— stood  by  the  couch  looking  down  at  her  handiwork 
with  an  air  of  pride  :  **  Madame  a  voulu  faire  un  petit 
bout  de  toilette  pour  Monsieur  Berwick,"  she  explained 
importantly.      Poor    Barbara    was    by    now    rather 


BARBARA   REBELL.  93 

nervously  aware  that  there  was  something  about  her 
own  appearance  to-night  which  did  not  please  her  god- 
mother. Indeed,  sitting  there,  in  this  lofty  room  full 
of  beautiful  and  extremely  ornate  pieces  of  furniture 
and  rich  hangings,  she  felt  acutely  conscious  that  she 
was,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  picture.  Words  were  not 
needed  to  tell  her  that,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  her 
godmother  wished  her  to  look  well  before  this  Mr. 
James  Berwick,  who,  if  Mrs.  Turke  was  to  be  believed, 
seemed  to  come  and  go  so  often  at  the  Priory,  but 
regarding  whom,  she,  Barbara,  felt  as  yet  no  interest. 

Almost  involuntarily  she  answered  the  critical  ex- 
pression which  rested  on  the  clear-cut  face.  "  I  care 
so  little  how  I  look, — after  all  what  does  it  matter?  " 

But  more  quickly  than  usual  she  realised  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  murmured  words,  **  Nonsense,  child,  it 
does  matter,  very  much  !  "  and  she  divined  the  phrase, 
"A  woman  should  always  try  to  look  her  best." 
Barbara  smiled  as  Leonie  joined  in  with  "  Une  jolie 
femme  doit  sa  beaute  a  elle-meme,"  adding,  in  response 
to  another  of  those  muffled  questioning  murmurs, 
"  Mais  oui,  Madame,  Monsieur  Boringdon  a  dti  venir 
avec  Monsieur  Berwick." 

Mrs.  Rebell  looked  up  rather  eagerly;  if  Oliver 
Boringdon  were  to  be  there  this  evening,  and  if  out- 
ward appearance  were  of  such  consequence  as  these 
kind  people,  Madame  Sampiero  and  the  old  French- 
woman, seemed  to  think,  then  it  was  a  pity  that 
one  of  the  only  two  people  whom  she  had  wished  to 
impress  favourably  at  Chancton  should  see  her  at  a 
disadvantage. 

Again  came  low  murmurs  of  which  the  significance 
entirely  escaped  Barbara,  but  which  Leonie  had  heard 
and  understood  :  quickly  the  maid  went  across  the 
great  room,  and  in  a  moment  her  brown  hands  had 


94  BARBARA  REBELL. 

pulled  open  a  deep  drawer  in  the  Buhl  wardrobe  which 
had  once  adorned  the  bed  chamber  of  the  last  Queen  of 
France.  Now  L^onie  was  coming  back  towards  her 
mistress'  couch,  towards  Barbara,  her  arms  laden  with 
a  delicate  foam  of  old  lace. 

A  few  minutes  of  hard  work  with  a  needle  and  white 
thread,  much  eager  chatter  of  French,  and  Barbara's 
thin  white  silk  gown  had  been  transformed  from  a 
straight  and,  according  to  the  fashion  of  that  day, 
shapeless  gown,  into  a  beautiful  and  poetic  garment. 

A  gleam  of  amused  pleasure  flashed  across  Madame 
Sampiero's  trembling  lips  and  wide  open  blue  eyes  : 
she  realised  that  a  little  thought,  a  little  trouble,  would 
transform  her  god-daughter,  if  not  into  a  beauty,  then 
into  a  singularly  distinguished  and  attractive-looking 
young  woman. 

Like  most  beautiful  people,  Barbara  Sampiero  had 
always  been  generous  in  her  appreciation  of  the  beauty 
of  others,  and  she  would  have  been  pleased  indeed  had 
Richard  Rebell's  daughter  turned  out  as  lovely  as  had 
been  her  mother, — lovely  with  that  English  beauty  of 
golden  hair  and  perfect  colouring.  But  Barbara's 
charm,  so  far  at  least,  seemed  of  the  soul  rather 
than  of  the  body,  and,  recognising  this  fact,  Madame 
Sampiero  had  at  first  felt  disappointed,  for  her  own 
experience — and  in  these  matters  a  woman  can  only  be 
guided  by  her  own  personal  experience — was  that  in 
this  world  beauty  of  body  counts  very  much  more  in 
obtaining  for  those  who  possess  it  their  heart's  desire 
than  does  beauty  of  soul. 

The  mistress  of  Chancton  Priory  had  hesitated  pain- 
fully before  allowing  Doctor  McKirdy  to  write  the  letter 
which  had  bidden  Barbara  Rebell  come  to  England. 
The  old  Scotchman,  who  to  her  surprise  had  urged 


BARBARA   REBELL.  95 

Madame  Sampiero  to  send  for  her  god-daughter, 
regarded  the  coming  of  Barbara  as  a  matter  of  com- 
paratively small  moment.  If  the  experiment  was  not 
successful,  well  then  Mrs.  Rebell  could  be  sent  away 
again  ;  but  the  mistress  of  the  Priory  knew  that  to  her- 
self the  coming  of  Richard  Rebell's  daughter  must 
either  bring  something  like  happiness,  and  the  com- 
panionship for  which  she  sometimes  craved  with  so 
desperate  a  longing,  or  the  destruction  of  the  dignified 
peace  in  which  she  had  known  how  to  enfold  herself  as 
in  a  mantle. 

For  a  few  days,  Barbara's  fate  had  indeed  hung  in  the 
balance,  and  could  money  have  taken  the  place  of  the 
shelter  asked  for,  it  would  have  been  sent  in  ample 
measure.  At  last  what  had  turned  the  balance  and 
weighed  down  the  scale  had  been  a  mere  word  said  by 
Mrs.  Turke — a  word  referring  incautiously  to  James 
Berwick  as  the  probable  future  owner  of  Chancton 
Priory. 

Hearing  that  word,  the  present  owner's  trembling 
lips  had  closed  tightly  together.  So  that  was  what 
they  were  all  planning  ?  That  the  Priory  should  be, 
in  the  fulness  of  time,  handed  over  to  James  Berwick, 
to  be  added  to  the  many  possessions  he  had  acquired 
by  the  sale  of  himself — Madame  Sampiero,  discussing 
the  matter  in  the  watches  of  her  long  night,  did  not 
choose  and  pick  her  words — by  that  of  his  young  man- 
hood, and  of  his  already  growing  political  reputation, 
to  a  sickly  woman,  older  than  himself,  whose  death 
had  been  the  crowning  boon  she  had  bestowed  on  her 
husband. 

And  so  Chancton,  which  Madame  Sampiero  loved 
with  so  passionate  an  affection,  was  meant  to  take  its 
place,  as  if  by  chance,  at  the  end  of  the  long  list  of 
Berwick's  properties — that  list  which  all  who  ran  might 


96  BARBARA   REBELL. 

read  in  those  books  of  reference  where  the  mightiness  of 
Lord  Bosworth's  nephew  was  set  forth — after  Chilling- 
worth,  after  the  town  house,  after  Churm  Paddox, 
Newmarket,  even  after  the  property  he  had  inherited 
rom  his  own  father  in  France.  The  thought  whipped 
her  as  if  with  scorpions — perhaps  the  more  so  that  for 
one  moment,  in  the  long  ago,  at  a  time  when  Barbara 
Sampiero  wished  to  share  everything  with  the  man 
she  loved,  and  before  little  Julia,  that  enfant  de  miracle, 
was  born,  she  had  seriously  thought  of  making  Lord 
Bosworth's  nephew  her  heir.  But  his  marriage  had 
revolted  her  profoundly,  and  had,  of  course,  made 
the  questions  of  his  future  and  his  career,  which  had 
at  one  time  been  a  matter  for  anxious  thought  on  the 
part  of  his  uncle  and  political  godfather,  more  than 
secure.  Well,  indeed,  had  he,  or  rather  his  sister 
Arabella,  feathered  James  Berwick's  nest ! 

Like  most  lonely  wealthy  women,  Madame  Sampiero 
had  made  and  destroyed  many  wills  in  the  course  of  her 
life,  but  since  the  death  of  her  child  she  had  made  no 
new  disposition  of  her  property.  Let  the  place  go  to 
any  Rebell  who  could  establish  his  or  her  claim  to 
it — such  had  been  her  feeling.  But  while  Barbara's 
short,  pitiful,  and  yet  dignified  letter  still  remained 
unanswered,  and  while  Mrs.  Turke's  incautious  word 
still  sounded  in  her  ears,  she  had  sent  for  her  lawyer, 
and,  after  making  a  will  which  surprised  him,  had 
dictated  to  Doctor  McKirdy  the  letter  bidding  Mrs.  Rebell 
come  and  take  up  her  permanent  home  at  Chancton. 

And  now — ah  !  even  after  only  very  few  hours  o 
Barbara's  company,  Madame  Sampiero  lay  and  trembled 
to  think  how  nearly  she  had  let  this  good  thing  which 
had  suddenly  come  into  her  shadowed  life  slip  by.  All 
her  life  through  she  had  acted  on  impulse,  and  often 
she  had  lived  to  regret  what  she  had  done,  but  this 


BARBARA   REBELL.  97 

me,  acting  on  what  was  to  be,  so  she  had  assured 
herself,  the  last  memorable  impulse  of  her  life,  her 
instinct  had  guided  her  aright. 

What  Barbara  had  felt,  on  the  first  morning  when 
she  wandered  about  the  beautiful  old  house,  her  god- 
mother had  since  also  experienced,  with  increasing 
regret  and  self-reproach.  Why  had  she  not  sent  for 
the  girl  immediately  after  Richard  Rebell's  death  ? 
Why  had  she  allowed  the  terrible  grief  and  physical 
distress  which  then  oppressed  her  to  prevent  the 
accomplishment  of  that  act  of  humanity  and  mercy  ? 
True,  poor  Barbara  had  already  met  the  man  whom 
she  had  married  almost  immediately  afterwards,  but 
had  she,  Madame  Sampiero,  done  her  duty  by  her  god- 
daughter, the  girl  might  have  been  saved  from  the 
saddest  because  the  least  remediable  fate  which  can 
befall  a  woman,  that  of  an  unhappy  uncongenial 
marriage — how  unhappy,  how  uncongenial  Madame 
Sampiero  did  not  yet  fully  know. 

But  now  it  was  no  use  to  waste  time  in  lamenting 
the  irreparable,  and  the  paralysed  woman  set  her  clear 
mind  to  do  all  that  could  be  done  to  make  the  life  of 
her  young  kinswoman  as  much  as  might  be  honoured 
and  happy.  Those  old  friends  and  neighbours  whose 
disapproval  and  reprobation  the  owner  of  Chancton 
Priory  had  endured  during  many  years  with  easy 
philosophy,  and  whose  later  pity  and  proffered 
sympathy  she  had  so  fiercely  rejected  when  her  awful 
loss  and  subsequent  physical  disability  had  made  them 
willing  to  surround  her  once  more  with  love,  with 
sympathy,  ay  and  almost  with  the  respect  she  had 
forfeited,  should  now  be  asked  to  show  kindness  to 
Richard  Rebell's  daughter.  Hence  the  letters  dictated 
to  Doctor  McKirdy  which  Berwick  had  seen  lying  ready 
for  post  in  the  hall. 

B.R.  H 


98  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Other  epistles,  of  scarcely  less  moment  from  the 
point  of  view  of  Madame  Sampiero,  had  also  been 
despatched  from  the  Priory  during  the  last  two  days. 
Barbara  must  be  made  fit  in  every  way  for  the  place 
which  she  was  to  take  now,  and  in  the  future,  at 
Chancton  Priory.  In  material  matters,  money  can  do 
so  much  !  Madame  Sampiero  knew  exactly  how  much 
— and  alas  !  how  little — money  can  do.  Her  wealth 
could  not  restore  poor  Barbara's  girlhood,  could  not 
obliterate  the  fact  that  far  away,  in  a  West  Indian 
island,  there  lived  a  man  who  might  some  day  make 
Barbara  as  wretched  as  she  herself  had  been  made 
by  Napoleone  Sampiero.  But  there  remained  the 
power  of  so  acting  that  Barbara  should  be  armed 
cap-d-pie  for  any  worldly  warfare  that  might  come 
— the  power  of  surrounding  her  with  that  outward 
appearance  of  importance  and  prosperity  which,  as 
Madame  Sampiero  well  knew,  means  much  in  this 
world. 

Hence  milliners  and  dressmakers  were  told  to  hie 
them  to  Chancton,  from  Bond  Street,  and,  better  still, 
from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  Doctor  McKirdy  was 
amused,  bewildered,  touched  to  the  heart,  as  he  bent 
his  red-grey  head  over  the  notepaper,  and  drew  heavy 
cheques  "  all  for  the  covering  of  one  poor  perishable 
body."  So  much  fling  he  allowed  himself,  and  then 
suddenly  "  Madam  "  had  said  something, — now  what 
had  she  said  ?  The  doctor  was  completely  nonplussed, 
angry  with  himself — he,  whose  mind  always  leapt  to 
hers  !  Again  and  again  the  long  sentence  was  murmured 
forth — it  must  be  something  of  the  utmost  importance 
— luckily  Mrs.  Turke  just  then  bustled  into  the  room, 
and  with  startling  clearness  had  come  the  words, 
**  You  tell  him,  Turkey  1 "  Again  the  muttered 
conimprehensible  murmur,  and   Mrs.  Turke's  instant 


BARBARA   REBELL.  99 

comprehension,   "  Why,   of    course,   Madam    reminds 
you,  doctor,  that 

'*  The  very  sheep  and  silkworms  wore 
The  selfsame  clothing  long  before  !  " 

Well,  well,  as  long  as  it  all  added  a  moment  of 
cheerfulness,  of  forgetfulness  of  the  bitter  past  to 
his  patient,  what  did  anything  matter  ?  Doctor 
McKirdy  told  himself  rather  ruefully  that  Madam 
had  always  been  fond  of  fine  raiment :  for  his  part, 
he  thought  Mrs.  Rebell  looked  very  well  as  she 
was,  especially  when  wearing  that  long  white  cloak 
of  hers,  but  if  it  pleased  Madam  to  dress  her  up  like 
a  doll,  why,  of  course,  they  must  all  give  in  with  a 
good  grace. 

Meanwhile,  oh !  yes,  he  quite  understood  that  she 
was  not  to  be  shown  overmuch  to  the  critical  eyes  of 
the  village — there  was  to  be  no  going  to  church,  for 
instance,  till  the  fine  feathers  were  come  which  were  to 
transform  the  gentle  modest  dove-like  creature  into  a 
bird  of  paradise. 

To-day,  for  the  first  time  for  many  years,  Madame 
Sampiero  could  have  dispensed  with  the  presence  of 
James  Berwick  at  the  Priory.  Of  all  men  he  was  the 
most  fastidious  in  the  matter  of  women's  looks.  A 
first  impression,  so  Barbara's  godmother  reminded 
herself,  counts  so  much  with  a  man,  and  what  James 
thought  now  of  Barbara  Rebell  would  be  sure  to  be 
reported  at  once  at  Fletchings. 

Fletchings,  never  long  out  of  Madame  Sampiero's 
thoughts,  yet  rarely  mentioned  to  those  about  her— 
Fletchings  the  charming,  rather  small  manor-house 
originally  bought  by  Lord  Bosworth  in  order  that  he 
might  be  close — and  yet  not  too  close,  in  the  eyes  of  a 
censorious  world — to  Chancton  Priory.  This  had  been 
some  thirty  years  ago,  long  before  the  memorable  later 

H  9 


TOO  BARBARA   REBELL. 

period  when  both  of  them  became  entirely  indifferent 
to  what  that  same  world  might  think. 

And  now  James  Berwick  had  come  to  be  the  only 
link  between  Fletchings  and  the  Priory.  It  had  been 
Madame  Sampiero's  will,  ruthlessly  carried  out,  that 
all  relationship  between  herself  and  Lord  Bosworth 
should  cease — that  they  should  no  longer  meet,  even  to 
mourn  together  their  child  Julia.  She  wished  to  be 
remembered  as  she  had  been,  not  as  she  now  was,  a 
living  corpse,  an  object  of  repulsion — so  she  told  herself 
with  grim  frankness — to  any  sanely  constituted  man. 

The  mistress  of  Chancton  Priory  never  allowed 
herself  to  regret  her  decision,  but  still  there  were  times 
when  James  Berwick's  prolonged  absences  saddened 
her  and  seemed  to  make  the  lamp  of  her  life  burn  very 
low.  From  him  alone  she  chose  to  learn  what  her  old 
friend  was  thinking  and  doing,  and  how  he  regarded 
those  struggles  in  the  political  arena  of  which  she  was 
still  almost  as  interested  a  spectator  as  he  was  himself. 
Through  Berwick,  she  was  thus  able  to  follow  each 
phase  of  the  pleasant  life  Lord  Bosworth  had  made  for 
himself,  in  this,  the  evening  of  his  days. 

Madame  Sampiero,  during  the  long  hour  just  before 
the  dawn,  had  debated  keenly  within  herself  as  to 
whether  it  would  be  well  for  Barbara  to  go  to  Fletchings. 
Certainly,  yes,  if  the  so  doing  would  add  to  her  happi- 
ness or  consolidate  her  position,  but  then  Arabella 
Berwick  must  be  won  over  and  propitiated,  made  to 
understand  that  Mrs.  Rebell  was  destined  to  become  a 
person  of  importance.  What  Arabella  should  be  brought 
to  think  rested  with  James  Berwick.  For  the  first 
time  for  years,  Madame  Sampiero  would  have  given 
much  to  be  downstairs,  to-night,  to  see  what  was  going 
on  in  the  great  Blue  drawing-room  which  lay  just 
below  her  own  room. 


CHAPTER   v. 

"  So  every  sweet  with  sour  is  tempered  still. 
That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more ; 
For  easy  things  that  may  be  got  at  will 
Most  sorts  of  men  do  set  but  little  store." 

Spenser. 

Berwick  walked  up  and  down  the  hall  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Rebell.  Not  only  Mrs.  Turke's  ambiguous 
utterances,  but  his  own  knowledge  of  her  parents,  made 
him  look  forward  with  a  certain  curiosity  to  seeing  her. 

The  story  of  Richard  Rebell,  the  one-time  brilliant 
and  popular  man  about  town,  who,  not  long  after  his 
marriage  to  a  reigning  beauty,  had  been  overwhelmed 
by  the  shameful  accusation  of  cheating  at  cards ;  the 
subsequent  libel  case  which  had  developed  into  a  mid- 
Victorian  cause  cell'bre ;  the  award  of  nominal  damages ; 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Rebell's  ultimate  retreat, 
for  ever,  to  the  Continent — it  was  all  well  known  to 
James  Berwick. 

Still,  he  would  rather  have  met  this  Mrs.  Rebell  any- 
where else  than  at  Chancton  Priory.  Her  presence  here 
could  not  but  destroy,  for  himself,  the  peculiar  charm 
of  the  place. 

How  unpunctual  she  was  !  Why  was  it  that  women 
— with  the  one  exception  of  his  sister  Arabella — were 
always  either  too  early  or  too  late  ? 

McGregor's  voice  broke  across  the  ungallant  thought, 
"  Mrs.  Rebell,  sir,  is  in  the  Blue  drawing-room.  She 
has  been  down  some  time." 


103  BARBARA   REBELL. 

The  words  gave  Berwick  a  disagreeable  shock.  The 
Blue  drawing-room  ?  Years  had  gone  by  since  the 
two  charming  rooms  taking  up  the  whole  west  side  of 
the  Priory  had  been  in  familiar  use.  He  remembered 
very  well  the  last  time  he  had  seen  them  filled  with  a 
feminine  presence.  It  had  been  just  after  his  first  term 
at  Oxford,  when  he  still  felt  something  of  the  school- 
boy :  Madame  Sampiero,  beautiful  and  gracious  as  she 
only  knew  how  to  be,  had  received  him  with  great 
kindness,  striving  to  put  him  completely  at  his  ease. 
There  had  been  there  also  his  uncle,  Lord  Bosworth, 
and  a  certain  Septimus  Daman,  an  old  friend  and 
habitue  of  the  Priory  in  those  later  days  of  Lord 
Bosworth  and  Madame  Sampiero's  intimacy,  when  no 
woman  ever  crossed  its  stately  threshold. 

Just  before  the  little  party  of  four,  the  three  men  and 
their  hostess,  had  gone  in  to  dinner,  a  radiant  apparition 
had  danced  into  the  room,  little  fair-haired  Julia,  the 
mcarnation  of  happy  childhood.  Her  mother  had 
placed  her,  laughing,  beside  the  rather  fantastic  portrait 
which  was  then  being  painted  of  the  child  by  an  Italian 
artist,  and  which  now  hung  in  Lord  Bosworth's  study  at 
Fletchings,  bearing  silent  witness  to  many  past  events. 

With  the  memory  of  this  scene  singularly  vivid,  it 
shocked  Berwick  that  now,  even  after  the  lapse  of  so 
many  years,  another  woman  should  be  installed  as 
mistress  of  the  room  towards  which  he  was  bending  his 
steps.  So  feeling,  he  hesitated,  and  waited  for  a  moment, 
a  frown  on  his  face,  befoie  turning  the  handle  of  the 
door. 

James  Berwick  cultivated  in  himself  a  sense  of  the 
unusual  and  the  picturesque ;  especially  was  he  ever 
consciously  seeking  to  find  these  qualities  in  those 
women  with  whom  chance  brought  him  into  temporary 


BARBARA   REBELL.  103 

contact.  As  he  passed  through  into  the  Blue  drawing- 
room,  he  became  at  once  aware  that  the  former  ordered 
beauty  of  the  apartment  had  been  restored,  and  that 
the  tall  white  figure  standing  by  the  fire  harmonised, 
in  some  subtle  fashion,  with  the  old  French  furniture 
covered  in  the  rather  bright  blue  silk  which  gave  its 
name  to  the  room. 

Barbara  Rebell  was  gazing  down  into  the  wood  fire, 
one  slender  hand  and  arm  resting  on  the  rose  marble 
mantel-piece.  She  looked  singularly  young  and  forlorn, 
and  yet,  as  she  turned  towards  him,  he  saw  that  her 
whole  bearing  was  instinct  with  a  rather  desperate 
dignity.  She  was  not  at  all  what  the  man  advancing 
towards  her  had  thought  to  find — above  all  she  now 
looked  curiously  unlike  the  clear-eyed  vigorous  creature 
she  had  appeared  when  walking  by  McKirdy's  side 
along  the  open  down. 

As  James  Berwick  came  into  the  circle  of  light  thrown 
by  the  tall  shaded  lamps,  she  turned  and  directly  faced 
him, — the  expression  of  her  face  that  of  a  shrinking  and 
proud  embarrassment.  Then  she  spoke,  the  words  she 
uttered  bringing  to  her  hearer  discomfiture  and  rather 
piqued  surprise. 

"  I  have  been  wishing  so  much  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Boringdon,  and  also  your  mother.  I  think  your  sister 
must  have  written  and  told  you  of  her  kindness  to  me — 
though  indeed  I  do  not  suppose  for  a  moment  she  can 
have  made  you  understand  how  very  very  good  she  and 
Mr.  Johnstone  both  were.  I  am  the  bearer  of  several 
things  from  Grace.  Also  " — her  low  grave  voice 
faltered — "  I  wish  to  ask  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as 
to  arrange  for  the  sending  back  to  your  brother-in-law 
of  some  money  he  lent  me."  She  held  out  as  she 
spoke  an  envelope,  "  It  is  fifty  pounds,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  to  convey  it  to  him." 


104  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Berwick  felt  keenly  annoyed, — there  is  always  some- 
thing lowering  to  one's  self-esteem  in  being  taken  for 
another  person,  and  especially  in  receiving  in  that 
character  anything  savouring  of  a  confidential  com- 
munication. 

"You  are  making  a  mistake,"  he  said,  rather 
sharply;  "my  name  is  Berwick — James  Berwick. 
Oliver  Boringdon,  Mrs.  Johnstone's  brother,  lives  at 
Chancton  Cottage.  You  will  certainly  meet  him  in 
the  course  of  the  next  day  or  two." 

Mrs.  Rebell  looked  for  a  moment  extremely  discon- 
certed :  a  flood  of  bright  colour  swept  over  her  face, 
but  Berwick,  now  considering  her  closely,  saw  that,  if 
confused,  she  was  also  most  certainly  relieved.  Her 
manner  altered, — she  became,  in  a  gentle  and  rather 
abstracted  way,  at  ease.  The  man  now  standing  close 
to  her  suddenly  felt  as  if  in  the  presence  of  a  shy  and 
yet  confiding  creature — one  only  half  tame,  ready  to 
spring  away  at  any  rough  unmannerly  approach.  He 
caught  himself  wondering  how  it  was  that  she  had 
already  made  friends  with  McKirdy,  and  he  told 
himself  that  there  was  about  this  woman  something 
at  once  delicately  charming  and  at  the  same  time 
disarming — he  no  longer  grudged  her  presence  at  the 
Priory. 

On  their  way  to  the  dining-room,  during  their  pro- 
gress through  the  hall,  Berwick  looked  down  at  the 
fingers  resting  on  his  arm.  They  were  childishly  small 
and  delicate.  She  must  have,  he  thought,  a  singularly 
pretty  foot :  yes,  there  was  certainly  something  of  the 
nymph  about  her, — his  first  instinct  had  not  been  at 
fault,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Rebell  walked  to  the  further  side  of  the  large 
round  table,  evidently  regarding  her  companion  as  her 
guest,  and  from  that  moment  onwards,  James  Berwick 


BARBARA   REBELL.  105 

never  disputed  Barbara  Rebell's  sovereignty  of  Chancton 
Priory.  Indeed,  soon  he  was  glad  that  she  had  chosen 
so  to  place  herself  that,  whenever  he  looked  up,  he  saw 
her  small  head — the  ivory  tinted  face  so  curiously 
framed  by  short  curling  dark  hair,  and  the  rather  widely 
set  apart,  heavy-lidded  eyes — sharply  outlined  against 
the  curtainless  oriel  window,  of  which  the  outer  side  was 
swept  by  the  branches  of  a  cedar  of  Lebanon. 

Berwick  felt  himself  in  an  approving  mood.  His  old 
nurse  had  been  right ;  Mrs.  Rebell  would  add  to,  not 
detract  from,  the  charm  of  the  Priory.  Many  trifling 
matters  ministered  to  his  fancy.  The  dining-table  was 
bare  of  flowers  and  of  ornament :  McGregor,  it  was 
clear,  had  lost  touch  with  the  outside  world.  Berwick 
was  glad  too  that  Mrs.  Rebell  wore  no  jewels, — not 
even,  to  his  surprise,  a  wedding  ring.  She  must  be 
even  more  out  of  touch  with  her  contemporaries  than 
McGregor  !  And  yet  her  dress, — yes,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it — had  an  air  of  magnificence,  in  spite  of 
its  extreme  plainness.  Now  that  he  came  to  think  of 
it,  her  white  lace  gown,  vaporous  and  mysterious, 
resembled,  quite  curiously  so,  that  of  a  bride. 

So,  doubtless,  sitting  there,  as  they  were  sitting  now, 
more  than  one  Rebell  bride  and  bridegroom  had  sat  in 
this  old  dining-room,  at  this  very  round  table,  in  those 
days  when  men  brought  their  newly-wedded  wives 
straight  home.  The  last  Rebells  to  have  done  so  must 
have  been  Madame  Sampiero's  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother, her  own  and  her  god-daughter's  common 
ancestors.  Berwick  wondered  swiftly  if  it  was  from 
that  bride  of  a  hundred  years  ago  that  Barbara  had 
taken  her  eyes — those  singularly  desolate  eyes  which 
alone  in  her  face  implied  experience. 

He  looked  across  the  table  with  a  whimsical,. con- 
sidering look.     A  stranger  passing  by   outside    that 


io6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

window  would  take  them  for  husband  and  wife.  So  do 
folk  judge  by  mere  appearance  !  The  fact  that  for  him- 
self as  well  as  for  her  marriage  was  out  of  the  region  of 
practical  possibilities  made  amusing, — gave  something 
of  piquancy  to  this  little  scene  of  pseudo-domesticity. 

Barbara  also  looked  up  and  across  at  him.  She  saw 
clearly,  for  the  first  time,  for  the  lamps  in  the  Blue 
drawing-room  gave  but  a  quavering  light,  the  tanned 
and  tense-looking  face,  of  which  perhaps  the  most 
arresting  features  were  the  penetrating  bright  blue  eyes. 
The  strong  jaw — not  a  handsome  feature,  this — was 
partly  concealed  by  a  ragged  straw-coloured  moustache, 
many  shades  lighter  than  the  hair  brushed  straight 
across  the  already  seamed  forehead.  She  smiled,  a 
delicate  heart-whole  smile,  softening  and  brightening, 
altering  incredibly  the  rather  austere  lines  of  her  face. 

"  I'm  thinking,"  she  said,  **  of  Mrs.  Turke.  I  was  in 
her  sitting-room  to-day,  and  she  showed  me  the  many 
portraits  she  has  there  of  you ;  that  being  so,  I 
certainly  ought  not  to  have  mistaken  you,  even  for  a 
moment,  for  Mr.  Boringdon  !  " 

But  with  the  mention  of  the  name  the  smile  faded, 
and  a  look  of  oppression  came  over  her  face. 

"Grace  Johnstone,"  Berwick's  sudden  utterance  ol 
the  name  was  an  experiment :  he  waited :  ah !  yes, 
that  was  it !  The  painful  association  was  with  Mrs. 
Johnstone,  not  with  Oliver  Boringdon  or  his  mother. 

"Grace  Johnstone,"  he  repeated,  "is  a  very  old 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Rebell,  and  it  is  always  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  have  news  of  her." 

Barbara  was  opening  and  shutting  her  ringless  left 
hand  with  a  nervous  gesture  :  she  began  crumbling  the 
bread  by  her  plate. 

"  I  have  not  known  her  very  long,"  she  said,  "  but 
nothing  could  have  exceeded  her  kindness  to  me.     I 


BARBARA   REBELL.  107 

was  very  ill,  and  Mrs.  Johnstone  took  me  into  her  own 
house  and  nursed  me  well  again.  It  seemed  so  very 
strange  a  coincidence  that  her  mother  and  brother 
should  be  living  at  Chancton,  so  near  to  my  godmother." 
But  Berwick  realised  that  the  coincidence  was  not 
regarded  by  the  speaker  as  a  happy  one. 

**  Mrs.  Boringdon,"  he  said  slowly,  "  is  quite  unlike 
her  daughter.  I  should  think  there  was  very  little 
confidence  between  them.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  be 
rather  impertinent,  to  take  advantage  of  our  relation- 
ship— you  know  my  great-grandfather  very  wisely 
married  your  great-grandmother's  sister — I  should  like 
to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice " 

Barbara  looked  at  him  anxiously — the  youthfulness 
which  had  so  disarmed  him  again  became  manifest  in 
her  face. 

"  My  advice  is  that  you  write  a  note  to  the  Johnstones, 
and  then  confide  it  to  my  care  to  send  off  with  the  fifty 
pounds  you  are  returning  to  them.  I  will  see  that  they 
receive  it  safely."  Some  instinct — the  outcome,  perhaps, 
of  many  money  dealings  with  pretty  women — made  him 
add,  with  a  touch  of  reserve,  "  But  perhaps  Mrs. 
Johnstone  did  not  know  of  this  loan  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  of  course  she  did  !  Indeed  it  was  she 
who  suggested  it.  But  for  that  I  could  not  have  come 
home."  Barbara  was  blushing,  and  Berwick  saw  tears 
shinmg  in  her  eyes.  He  felt  oddly  moved.  He  had 
often  heard  of,  but  he  had  never  seen,  the  shedding  of 
tears  of  gratitude. 

"Yes,"  he  said  hastily,  "I  felt  sure  that  was  the 
case.  But  I  do  not  think  Mrs.  Boringdon  need  be 
informed  of  the  fact." 

Mrs.  Rebell  had  risen,  A  sudden  fear  that  she  might 
be  going  upstairs,  that  he  would  not  see  her  again  that 
night,  came  over  Berwick, 


io8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  Do  go  into  the  drawing-room  and  write  that  note 
to  the  Johnstones,  and  I  will  join  you  there  in  a  few 
moments.  I  am  going  over  to  my  own  quarters  to 
fetch  something  which  will,  I  think,  interest  you." 

Berwick  held  open  the  door,  waited  till  the  echo  of 
her  footsteps  had  gone,  then  quickly  lighted  a  pipe, 
and  walking  across  the  dining-room  pushed  open  onecf 
the  sections  of  the  high  oriel  window.  Then  he  made 
his  way  round,  almost  stealthily,  to  the  stretch  of  lawn 
on  which  opened  the  French  windows  of  the  two 
drawing-rooms.  The  curtains  were  not  drawn : 
McGregor,  and  his  satellite,  the  village  lad  who  was 
being  transformed  into  a  footman,  had  certainly  grown 
careless, — and  yet  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to  shut  out 
the  moon,  and  it  was  not  at  all  cold. 

Pacing  up  and  down,  Berwick,  every  few  moments, 
saw,  set  as  in  a  frame,  the  whole  interior  of  the  Blue 
drawing-room,  forming  a  background  to  Barbara 
Rebell.  Indeed,  she  was  quite  near  the  window, 
sitting — an  hour  ago  the  fact  would  have  shocked  him 
— at  Madame  Sampiero's  own  writing-table,  at  that 
exquisite  Louis  XV.  escritoire  which  had  been  dis- 
covered by  Lord  Bosworth  in  a  Provengal  chateau, 
and  given  by  him,  now  many  a  long  year  ago,  to  the 
mistress  of  Chancton  Priory. 

Barbara  had  lighted  the  two  green  candles  which 
her  unseen  watcher  could  remember  as  having  been 
there  so  long  that  their  colour  had  almost  faded.  She 
was  bending  over  the  notepaper,  her  slight  supple  figure 
thrown  forward  in  a  curiously  graceful  attitude.  Again 
and  again  Berwick,  walking  and  smoking  outside, 
stopped  and  looked  critically  at  the  little  scene.  It  is 
seldom  that  a  man  can  so  look  consideringly  at  a 
woman,  save  perhaps  at  a  place  of  public  amusement, 
or  in  a  church. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  109 

At  last,  slightly  ashamed  of  himself,  he  turned  round 
for  the  last  time,  and  plunged  into  the  moonlit  dark- 
ness lying  the  other  side  of  the  house.  In  his  room 
was  a  graceful  sketch  of  Mrs.  Richard  Rebell,  Barbara's 
lovely  mother.  He  felt  certain  that  the  daughter  would 
greatly  value  it.  How  surely  his  instinct  had  guided 
him  he  himself  hardly  knew.  Barbara  had  loved  her 
mother  passionately,  and  after  this  evening  she  never 
glanced  at  the  early  presentment  of  that  same  beloved 
mother  without  a  kind  thought  for  the  giver  of  it. 

A  curious  hour  followed  :  spent  by  Berwick  and  Mrs. 
Rebell  one  on  each  side  of  Madame  Sampiero's  couch 
— Barbara  listening,  quite  silently,  while  Berwick,  never 
seen  to  more  advantage  than  when  exerting  himself  to 
please  and  interest  the  stricken  mistress  of  Chancton 
Priory,  told  news  of  that  absorbing  world  of  high 
politics  which  to  Madame  Sampiero  had  long  been  the 
only  one  which  counted,  and  in  which  much  of  her 
past  life  had  been  spent. 

So  listening,  Barbara  felt  herself  pitifully  ignorant. 
Pedro  Rebell,  proud  as  he  had  been  of  his  British  name 
and  ancestry,  made  no  attempt  to  keep  in  touch  with 
England.  True,  certain  names,  mentioned  so  familiarly 
before  her,  were  remembered  as  having  been  spoken  by 
her  father,  but  this  evening,  seeing  how  much  this  ques- 
tion— this  mysterious  question  of  the  Ins  and  the  Outs 
— meant  to  Madame  Sampiero,  Barbara  made  up  her 
mind,  rather  light-heartedly  considering  the  magnitude 
of  the  task,  to  lose  no  time  in  mastering  the  political 
problems  of  her  country. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Berwick's  eager  out-pouring 
— though  it  included  what  one  of  hie  listeners  knew  was 
a  masterly  forecast  of  the  fate  he  hoped  was  about  to 
overwhelm  the  Government  which  had  already  earned 


no  BARBARA   REBELL. 

the  nickname  of  "  The  Long  Parliament " — did  not 
add  much  to  Mrs.  Rebell's  knowledge  of  contemporary 
statecraft.  Still,  her  attention  never  flagged,  and  the 
speaker,  noting  her  absorption,  thought  he  had  never 
had  so  agreeable  an  audience,  or  one  which  showed 
more  whole-heartedly  its  sympathy  with  Her  Majesty's 
Opposition. 

The  entrance  of  Doctor  McKirdy  into  the  room 
proved  a  harsh  interruption. 

**  Be  off!  "  he  cried  unceremoniously.  **  Madam  won't 
be  having  a  glint  of  sleep  this  night  ! "  and  then  as 
Madame  Sampiero  spoke,  her  speech  sadly  involved, 
"  Ay,  ay,  I've  no  doubt  that  all  this  company  and 
talking  has  made  ye  feel  more  alive,  but  we  don't 
want  you  to  be  feeling  dead  to-morrow.  Madam — eh, 
what  ?  That  wouldn't  matter  ?  It  would  indeed 
matter,  to  those  who  had  your  death  on  their  con- 
sciences! " 

But  already  Berwick  and  Mrs.  Rebell  were  in  the 
corridor.  *'  I  hope  I  have  not  tired  her  ? "  he  said 
ruefully. 

**  No — no,  indeed  I  You  heard  what  she  said  ?  You 
made  her  feel  alive — no  wonder  she  looks  forward  to 
your  coming  !     Oh  !  I  hope  you  will  be  here  often." 

Berwick  looked  at  her  oddly,  almost  doubtfully,  for 
a  moment.  **  I  expect  to  be  here  a  good  deal  this 
winter,"  he  said  slowly. 

But  if  he  thought  that  the  evening,  so  well  begun,  was 
to  be  concluded  in  the  Blue  drawing-room  downstairs, 
he  was  disappointed.  Barbara  turned  and  made  him  an 
old-fashioned  curtsey — such  an  obeisance  as  French  and 
Italian  girls  are  taught  to  make  to  those  of  rank,  and  to 
the  aged, — and  then  in  a  moment  she  was  gone,  up  the 
winding  staircase,  leaving  Berwick  strangely  subjugated 
and  charmed. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  iii 

He  was  turning  slowly  when  there  came  the  sound 
of  shuffling  feet.  '*  Madam  insists  on  your  coming  back 
just  for  a  moment.  Now  don't  go  exciting  of  her  or 
she'll  never  live  to  see  you  occupying  that  chair  of  little 
ease." 

**  What  chair  ?  "  asked  Berwick  lazily :  he  was  fond 
of  McKirdy  with  an  old  fondness  dating  from  his  earliest 
childhood. 

**  The  high  seat,  the  gallows  of  fifty  cubits  set  apart 
for  the  Prime  Minister  of  this  great  country  1 " 

"  I'm  afraid  Madam  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time 
before  she  sees  me  there  !  " 

"  Well,  man,  give  her  at  least  the  chance  of  living  to 
see  that  glorious  day  !  " 

But  Madame  Sampiero  had,  as  it  turned  out,  very 
little  to  say,  and  nothing  of  an  exciting  nature. 

"Do  I  think  Arabella  will  like  her?  "  Berwick  was 
rather  taken  aback  and  puzzled.  He  had  not  thought 
of  his  sister  and  Mrs.  Rebell  in  conjunction,  and  the 
idea  was  not  a  particularly  agreeable  one.  "  Well,  yes, 
why  shouldn't  she  ?  They  are  absolutely  unlike,"  a  not 
unkindly  smile  came  over  his  face.  He  added,  "  I  am 
sure  my  uncle  will  be  charmed  with  her,"  then  bent 
forward  to  catch  the  faltering  utterance,  "Yes,  I  know 
Richard  Rebell  was  a  friend  of  his — but  do  I  under- 
stand that  you  want  Arabella  to  ask  her  to  Fletchings  ?  " 
There  was  a  rather  long  pause — "  Yes,  yes,  Arabella 
shall  certainly  call  on  Mrs.  Rebell,  and  at  once." 

One  fact  necessarily  dominated  Berwick's  relations 
with,  and  attitude  towards,  women.  That  he  often 
forgot  this  fact,  and  would  remain  for  long  periods  of 
time  quite  unaware  that  it  lay  in  wait  for  him  to  catch 
him  tripping,  was  certain.  But  even  so,  any  little 
matter,    such    as    a    moment    of   sudden    instinctive 


112  BARBARA   REBELL. 

sympathy  with  some  pretty  creature  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  Hfe,  was  apt  to  bring  back  the  knowledge, 
to  make  the  Fact  the  one  thing  to  be  remembered. 

Again,  it  was  never  forgotten — not  for  a  moment — by 
the  human  being  who  had  Berwick's  interest  most  at 
heart,  and  who  had  played  from  his  earliest  boyhood  a 
preponderant  part  in  his  life.  Arabella  Berwick  always 
remembered  that  her  brother's  dead  wife,  behaving  on 
this  unique  occasion  as  a  man  might  have  done,  and  as 
men  have  often  done,  had  so  left  her  vast  fortune  that 
even  the  life  interest  must  pass  away  from  him,  and  that 
irrevocably,  in  the  event  of  his  making  a  second 
marriage. 

At  the  time  of  his  wife's  death,  James  Berwick  had 
been  annoyed — keenly  so — by  the  comment  this  clause 
in  her  will  had  provoked — far  more  so  indeed  than  by 
the  clause  itself.  His  brief  experience  of  married  life 
had  not  been  such  as  to  make  him  at  all  desirous  of 
repeating  the  experiment ;  and  what  he  saw  of  marriage 
about  him  did  not  incline  him  to  envy  the  lot  of  the 
average  married  man.  Accordingly,  the  condition  of 
bachelorhood  attaching  to  his  present  wealth  pressed 
very  lightly  on  him.  It  was,  however,  always  present 
to  Miss  Berwick,  and  when  her  brother  was  staying  at 
Fletchings — even  more,  when  she  was  acting,  as  she 
sometimes  did,  as  hostess  to  his  friends — attractive 
girls  were  never  included  in  the  house  party,  and 
the  agreeable,  unattached  widow,  who  has  become  a 
social  institution,  was  rigorously  avoided  by  her. 

Unless  the  attraction  is  so  strong  as  to  cause  him  to 
overleap  each  of  the  many  barriers  erected  by  our 
rather  elaborate  civilisation,  a  man  of  the  world — a  man 
interested  supremely  in  politics,  considerably  in  sport, 
and  in  the  hundred  and  one  matters  which  occupy 
people  of  wealth  and  leisure — is  generally  apt  to  know, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  113 

in  an  intimate  social  sense,  only  those  women  with 
whom  he  is  brought  in  contact  by  his  own  womenfolk. 
Berwick  went  into  many  worlds  to  which  his  sister  had 
no  wish  to  have  access,  but  both  before  his  marriage 
and  since  he  had  become  a  widower,  she  had  been 
careful  to  throw  him,  as  far  as  lay  in  her  power,  with 
women  who  could  in  no  way  dispute  her  own  position 
as  his  trusted  counsellor  and  friend.  This  was  made 
the  more  easy  because  James  Berwick  in  all  good  faith 
disliked  that  feminine  type  which  plays  in  politics  the 
part  of  francs-tireurs — he  called  them  by  the  less 
agreeable  name  of  "  stirabouts."  Miss  Berwick  culti- 
vated on  her  brother's  behalf  every  type  of  pretty, 
amusing,  and  even  clever  married  woman,  but  no 
worldly  mother  was  ever  more  careful  in  keeping  her 
daughter  out  of  the  way  of  detrimentals  than  was 
Arabella  Berwick  in  avoiding  for  her  brother  dangerous 
proximities  of  an  innocent  kind. 

Unfortunately  Berwick  was  not  always  as  grateful  as  he 
should  have  been  to  so  kind  and  far-sighted  a  sister.  He 
would  suddenly  take  a  fancy  to  the  freshest  and  prettiest 
dehutante,  and  for  a  while,  perhaps  from  June  to  August, 
Arabella  would  tremble.  On  one  occasion  she  had  con- 
veyed some  idea  of  her  brother's  position  to  an  astute 
lady  who  had  regarded  him  as  a  prospective  son-in-law, 
and  when  once  the  mother  had  thoroughly  realised 
the  dreadful  truth  concerning  the  tenure  of  his  large 
income,  the  young  beauty  had  been  spirited  away. 

Then,  again, — and  this,  it  is  to  be  feared,  happened 
more  frequently — Berwick  would  deliberately  put  him- 
self in  the  way  of  some  devastating  charmer,  who, 
even  if  technically  "safe"  from  his  sister's  stand- 
point, belonged  to  the  type  which  breeds  mischief,  and 
causes  those  involuntary  appearances  in  the  law  courts 
of  his  country  which  stand  so  much  in  the  way  of  the 

B.R.  I     • 


114  BARBARA   REBELL. 

ambitious  young  statesman.  Such  ladies,  as  Miss 
Berwick  well  knew,  have  a  disconcerting  knack  of 
getting  rid  of  their  legal  impediment  to  re-marriage. 
Berwick  had  lately  had  a  very  narrow  escape  from  such 
a  one.  In  the  sharp  discussion  between  the  brother 
and  sister  which  had  followed,  he  had  exclaimed 
sardonically,  **  Really,  Arabella,  what  you  ought  to 
look  out  for — I  mean  for  me — is  some  poor  pretty 
soul  with  a  mad  husband  safe  out  of  the  way.  You 
know  lunatics  live  for  ever."  And  Arabella,  though 
she  had  smiled  reprovingly,  had  been  struck  by  the 
carelessly  uttered  words. 

Miss  Berwick's  attitude  to  certain  disagreeable  and 
sordid  facts  of  human  life  had  been  early  fixed  by  her- 
self as  one  of  disdainful  aloofness.  She  did  not  permit 
herself  to  judge  those  about  her,  and  far  preferred  not 
to  know  of  their  transgressions.  When  such  knowledge 
was  thrust  upon  her  —  as  had  necessarily  been  the 
case  with  her  uncle,  Lord  Bosworth,  and  Madame 
Sampiero — she  judged  narrowly  and  hardly  the  woman, 
contemptuously  and  leniently  the  man. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Crois-tu  done  que  Ton  pent  commander  k  son  coeur  ? 
On  aime  malgre  soi,  car  I'Amour  est  un  bote 
Qui  vient  ^  son  caprice,  et  toujours  en  vainqueur." 

E.   AUGIER. 

During  the  ten  days  which  followed  that  on  which 
Mrs.  Boringdon  had  held  a  certain  conversation  with 
her  son,  Lucy  Kemp  gradually  became  aware  of  two 
things.  The  first,  which  seemed  to  blot  out  and  exclude 
everything  else,  was  that  she  loved — in  the  old-fashioned 
pathetic  sense  of  the  abused  word — Oliver  Boringdon. 

Hitherto  she  had  been  able  to  call  the  deep  feeling 
which  knit  her  to  him  "  friendship,"  but  that  kindly 
hypocrisy  would  serve  no  longer  :  she  was  now  aware 
what  name  to  call  it  by.  She  had  known  it  since  the 
evening  she  had  noticed  that  his  manner  had  altered, 
that  he  had  become  more  reserved,  less  really  at  ease. 
The  second  thing  of  which  Lucy  became  aware,  during 
those  long  dragging  empty  days,  was  the  fact  of  her 
keen  unhappiness,  and  of  her  determination  to  conceal 
it  from  those  about  her — especially  from  the  father  and 
mother  who,  she  knew,  were  so  strangely  sensitive  to 
all  that  concerned  her. 

Major-General  and  Mrs.  Kemp  had  been  settled  at 
Chancton  Grange  for  some  years,  and  the  Mutiny  hero, 
the  man  whose  gallant  deed  had  once  thrilled  England, 
Mrs.  Kemp,  and  their  young  daughter,  had  come  to  be 
regarded  by  the  village  folk  with  that  kindly  contempt 
which  is  bred,  we  are  told,  by  familiarity. 

t  a 


ii6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

The  General's  incisive,  dry  manner  was  rather 
resented  by  those  of  his  neighbours  who  had  hoped 
to  make  of  him  a  local  tea-party  celebrity,  and  his 
constructive  interest  in  local  politics  won  him  but 
tepid  praise  from  the  villagers,  while  the  fact  that 
Mrs.  Kemp's  large-minded  charity  and  goodness  of 
heart  was  tempered  by  a  good  deal  of  shrewd 
common-sense,  did  not  make  her  the  more  loved  by 
those,  both  gentle  and  simple,  whom  she  was 
unwearying  in  helping  in  time  of  trouble. 

The  husband  and  wife  were,  however,  rather  grudg- 
ingly regarded  as  a  model  couple.  It  had  soon  been 
noticed  that  they  actually  appeared  happier  together 
than  apart,  and,  surprising  fact,  that  in  the  day-to-day 
life  of  walking  and  driving,  ay  and  even  of  sitting  still 
ndoors,  they  apparently  preferred  each  other's  company 
to  that  of  any  of  their  neighbours ! 

Why  one  man  succeeds,  and  another,  apparently 
superior  in  every  respect,  fails  in  winning  the  prizes, 
the  pleasant  places,  and  the  easy  paths  of  life,  is  a 
mystery  rather  to  their  acquaintances  than  to  their 
intimate  friends — people  who,  according  to  the  school- 
boy's excellent  definition,  "  know  all  about  you,  but 
like  you  all  the  same."  Now  the  peculiarity  about 
General  Kemp  was  that  he  had  neither  succeeded  nor 
failed,  or  rather  he  had  been  successful  only  up  to  a 
certain  point.  He  had  won  his  V.C.  as  a  subaltern  in 
the  Mutiny,  and  promotion  had  naturally  followed. 
But  after  he  had  attained  to  field  rank,  he  saw  his 
career  broken  off  abruptly,  and  that  for  no  short- 
comings of  his  own,  for  nothing  that  he  could  have 
helped  or  altered  in  any  way. 

It  was  a  prosaic  misfortune  enough,  being  simply  the 
relentless  knife  of  economy,  wielded  by  a  new  and 
enthusiastic   Secretary  at  War,  which  cut  off  at  one 


BARBARA   REBELL.  117 

sweep  General  Kemp  and  various  of  his  contem- 
poraries and  comrades  in  arms.  The  right  honourable 
gentleman,  as  he  explained  to  an  admiring  House  of 
Commons,  was  able  to  save  the  difference  between  the 
full  pay  and  the  retired  pay  of  these  officers — a  sub- 
stantial sum  to  be  sure,  but  still  not  so  much  as  was 
afterwards  expended  by  the  right  honourable  gentle- 
man's successors  in  bringing  the  establishment  of 
officers  up  to  its  proper  strength  again. 

General  Kemp  was  a  deeply  disappointed  man,  but 
he  kept  his  feelings  strictly  to  himself,  and  only  his 
wife  knew  what  compulsory  retirement  had  meant  to 
him,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  to  herself,  for  Mrs. 
Kemp,  very  early  in  life,  had  put  all  her  eggs  in  Thomas 
Kemp's  basket. 

But  in  one  matter  there  had  been  no  disappointment. 
The  fact  that  Lucy's  childhood  had  been  spent,  though 
not  unhappily,  far  from  her  parents,  seemed  to  make  her 
doubly  dear  to  them :  and  then,  to  their  fond  eyes  and 
hearts,  their  child  was  everything  a  girl  should  be. 
Unlike  the  girls  of  whom  Mrs.  Kemp  sometimes  heard 
so  much,  she  showed  no  desire  to  leave  her  father  and 
mother — no  wish  even  to  enjoy  the  gaieties  which  fell 
to  the  lot  of  her  contemporaries  who  lived  amid  livelier 
scenes  than  those  afforded  by  a  remote  Sussex  village, 
and  this  though  she  was  as  fond  of  dancing  and  of 
play  as  other  young  creatures  of  her  age. 

Until  a  year  ago, — nay,  till  six  months  back, — Mrs. 
Kemp  would  have  disbelieved  an  angel,  had  so  august 
a  visitant  foretold  that  there  would  soon  arise,  and 
that  through  no  fault  of  hers  or  of  the  girl's,  a  cloud 
between  her  daughter,  her  darling  Lucy,  and  herself ;  and 
yet  this  thing,  this  incredible  thing,  had  come  to  pass. 

The  worst  the  mother  had  feared,  and  she  had  some- 
times feared  it  greatly,  was  that  her  only  daughter, 


ii8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

following  in  this  her  own  example,  would  marry  to 
India,  or,  worse  still,  to  some  far-away  colony.  But, 
even  so,  Mrs.  Kemp  would  have  made  the  sacrifice, 
especially  if  Lucy's  lover  had  in  any  way  recalled  the 
Tom  Kemp  of  thirty  years  before. 

However,  as  so  generally  happens,  the  danger  the 
mother  had  dreaded  passed  by  harmlessly :  Lucy 
received  and  rejected  the  offer  of  a  soldier,  the  son  of 
one  of  the  General's  oldest  friends;  and  her  girlish 
heart  had  turned  to  something  so  utterly  different, 
so  entirely  unexpected,  that  neither  Mrs.  Kemp  nor 
Lucy's  father  had  known  how  to  deal  with  the  situa- 
tion which  had  come  upon  them  with  a  suddenness 
which  had  amazed  them  both. 

In  spite  of  her  look  of  unformed  youth  and  gravely 
young  manner,  Lucy  Kemp  was  in  no  sense  a  child. 
There  are  surely  many  women  who  at  some  stage  of 
their  life,  paraphrasing  the  famous  phrase,  might  well 
exclaim,  **  I  think,  therefore  I  am — a  woman."  But  such 
a  test  would  convict  many  women  of  eternal  childhood. 

Lucy,  during  the  last  year,  had  thought  much — too 
much,  perhaps,  for  her  comfort.  She  had  early  made 
up  her  mind  as  to  what  she  did  not  wish  to  do  with 
her  life.  In  no  circumstances  would  she  become  the 
wife  of  Captain  Laxton,  but  she  had  found  it  difficult 
to  convince  him  of  her  resolution. 

So  it  was  that  now,  during  those  dreary  days  when 
the  flow  of  constant  communication  between  Oliver 
Boringdon  and  the  Grange  had  ceased,  as  if  by  a 
stroke  of  malignant  magic,  poor  Lucy  had  had  more 
than  time  to  examine  her  mind  and  heart,  and  to  feel 
a  dreadful  terror  lest  what  she  found  there  should  also 
be  discovered  by  those  about  her,  and  especially  by 
Oliver  himsel£ 


BARBARA   REBELL.  119 

Mrs.  Kemp  was  not  well — so  rare  an  occurrence  as  to 
alter  all  the  usual  habits  of  the  Grange.  The  General 
wandered  disconsolately  about  the  garden,  and  through 
the  lower  rooms,  reading,  smoking,  and  gardening,  but 
it  always  ended  in  his  going  up  to  his  wife's  room. 
Lucy,  standing^  apart,  was  not  too  busy  with  her 
thoughts  to  realise,  more  than  she  had  ever  done 
before,  the  vitality,  the  compelling  bondage,  of  such  an 
attachment  as  that  between  her  quiet,  rather  silent, 
father  and  her  impulsive  affectionate  mother.  Watching 
those  two  with  a  new,  and  an  almost  painful,  interest, 
the  girl  told  herself  that,  for  a  year  of  such  happy 
bondage  between  herself  and  Oliver  Boringdon,  she 
would  willingly  give  the  rest  of  her  life  in  exchange. 

Looking  back,  especially  on  the  last  few  months, 
Lucy  was  able  to  recall  many  moments,  nay  hours, 
when  Oliver  had  undoubtedly  regarded  her  as  being  in 
a  very  special  sense  his  friend.  Bending  over  her  work, 
sitting  silent  by  her  mother's  bedside,  Lucy  would 
suddenly  remember,  with  a  fluttering  of  the  heart, 
certain  kindly  looks,  certain  frankly  uttered  confidences 
— and,  remembering  these  things,  she  would  regain  some 
of  the  self-respect  which  sometimes  seemed  to  have 
slipped  away  from  her  in  a  night.  To  Lucy  Kemp  the 
thought  of  seeking  before  being  sought  was  profoundly 
repugnant,  and  she  was  deeply  ashamed  of  the  feeling 
which  possessed  her,  and  which  alone  seemed  real  in 
her  daily  life. 

There  had  been  no  love-making  on  Oliver's  part — 
no,  indeed  ! — but  the  very  phrase  has  acquired  a  vulgar 
significance.  The  girl  thought  she  knew  every  way  of 
love,  and  she  shrank  from  being  "  made  love  to." 
Captain  Laxton's  eager  desire  to  anticipate  her  every 
trifling  wish,  his  awkward  and  most  unprovoked  com- 
pliments, the  haunting  of  her  when  she  would  so  much 


120  BARBARA   REBELL. 

rather  have  been  alone — ah  !  no,  Oliver  could  never 
behave  like  that,  in  so  absurd,  so  undignified  a  manner, 
to  any  woman.  If  Captain  Laxton  was  a  typical  lover, 
then  Lucy  Kemp  felt  sure  that  Boringdon  was  incapable 
of  being,  in  that  sense,  in  love,  and  she  thought  all  the 
better  of  him  for  it. 

Nay,  more, — the  belief  that  Oliver  was  in  this  so 
different  from  other,  more  commonplace,  men,  brought 
infinite  comfort.  Lucy,  compelled  to  admit  that  he  had 
at  no  time  shown  any  wish  to  make  love  to  her,  brought 
herself  to  think  it  possible  that  Boringdon  was  in  very 
truth  incapable  of  that  peculiar  jealous  passionate 
feeling  of  which  the  girl  now  knew  herself  to  be  as  much 
possessed  as  was  Captain  Laxton  himself — that  strange 
state  of  feeling  so  constantly  described  in  those  novels 
which  she  and  her  mother  read,  and  of  which  her 
soldier  lover,  when  in  her  company,  seemed  the  living 
embodiment. 

During  the  past  ten  days,  Lucy  had  only  twice  seen 
Oliver,  and  this  in  village  life  must  mean  deliberate 
avoidance.  So  feeling,  pride,  and  instinctive  modesty, 
had  kept  her  away  from  the  Cottage,  and  Mrs.  Boring- 
don— this  was  surely  strange — had  made  no  effort  to 
see  her.  Once,  in  a  by-way  of  Chancton,  Lucy  had 
met  Oliver  face  to  face, — he  had  stopped  her,  inquired 
eagerly  concerning  Mrs.  Kemp,  and  seemed  inclined, 
more  than  she  had  done  at  the  moment,  to  talk  in 
the  old  way,  to  linger — then  with  an  odd,  almost 
rude  abruptness,  he  had  turned  and  left  her,  and  tears, 
of  which  she  had  been  bitterly,  agonisingly  ashamed, 
had  rushed  into  poor  Lucy's  brown  eyes. 

Their  other  meeting  —  one  which  was  infinitely 
pleasanter  to  look  back  upon — had  been  at  the  Grange. 
Boringdon  had  come  with  a  note  from  his  mother  to 
Mrs.  Kemp  ;  Lucy  had  taken  it  from  him  at  the  door, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  121 

and  unasked  he  had  followed  the  girl  through  the  hall 
out  into  the  old-fashioned  garden.  There,  after  a  word 
said  by  her  as  to  the  surprising  result  of  an  important 
by-election, — since  she  had  known  him  Lucy  had  become 
very  much  of  a  politician, — Oliver  had  suddenly  taken 
from  his  pocket  a  letter  which  concerned  him  nearly, 
and  acting  as  if  on  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  had 
begged  her  to  read  it. 

The  letter  was  from  a  man  who  had  been  one  of  his 
principal  constituents  and  supporters  during  his  brief 
period  of  Parliamentary  glor}',  and  contained  private 
information  concerning  the  probable  resignation  of  the 
member  who  had  been  Boringdon's  successful  rival  at 
the  last  election — it  of  course  amounted  to  an  invitation 
to  stand  again. 

For  a  moment  standing,  out  there  in  the  garden, 
Time  seemed  to  have  been  put  back :  Oliver  and  she 
were  talking  in  the  old  way — indeed,  he  was  just 
elling  her  exactly  what  he  meant  to  write  in  answer 
to  this  all-important  letter,  when,  to  Lucy's  discom- 
fiture and  deep  chagrin.  General  Kemp  had  suddenly 
appeared  in  the  garden  porch  of  the  Grange  and  had 
put  a  quick  sharp  end  to  the  discussion.  "Your 
mother  wants  you,  Lucy — will  you  please  go  up  to 
her  at  once?"  and  the  girl  had  obeyed  without 
saying  good-bye,  for  she  felt  sure — or  perhaps,  had 
hoped  to  ensure — that  Boringdon  would  wait  till  she 
came  down  again.  But  alas  !  when  she  ran  down,  a 
few  minutes  later,  the  young  man  was  gone,  and  her 
father  answered  her  involuntary  look  of  deep  dis- 
appointment with  one  that  made  her  hang  her  head 
and  blush  !  The  child  in  Lucy  asked  itself  pitifully 
how  father  could  have  been  so  unkind. 

General  Kemp  had  indeed  been  angry — nay,  more 
than  angry.     The  showing  of  a  letter  by  a  man  to  a 


122  BARBARA    REBELL. 

woman  is  an  action  which  to  an  onlooker  has  about  it 
something  pecuHarly  significant  and  intimate.  Standing 
just  within  the  threshold  of  his  house,  seeing  the  two 
figures  standing  on  the  path  close  to  one  another,  and 
so  absorbed  in  what  they  were  saying  that  some 
moments  elapsed  before  they  looked  up  and  became 
aware  of  his  presence,  the  father  realised,  more  than  he 
had  done  before,  Lucy's  odd  relation  to  the  young  man. 
"  What  the  devil  " — so  General  Kemp  asked  himself 
with  rising  anger — "  what  the  devil  did  Boringdon 
mean  by  all  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"  II  faut  qu'une  porte  soit  ouverte  ou  ferm6e  !"  The 
wise  French  saying  which  provided  de  Musset  with  a 
title  for  one  of  his  most  poignant  tragi-comedies,  was 
probably  unknown  to  General  Kemp,,  but  it  exactly 
expressed  his  feeling.  The  upright  soldier  had  no 
liking  for  half-open  doors — for  ambiguous  sentimental 
relations. 

"  I  can't  think  what  the  man  was  thinking  of — taking 
a  letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and  showing  it  to  her  for  all 
the  world  as  if  she  were  his  wife  1  I  wish,  Mary,  you'd 
say  a  word  to  Lucy." 

"  What  word  would  you  have  me  say,  Tom  ?  "  Mrs. 
Kemp  raised  herself  painfully  in  bed.  She  still  felt  in 
all  her  bones  the  violent  chill  she  had  caught,  and  the 
being  compelled  to  lie  aside  had  made  her,  what  she  so 
seldom  was,  really  depressed.  On  this  unfortunate 
afternoon  she  had  followed  with  intuitive  knowledge 
every  act  of  the  little  drama  enacted  downstairs  :  she 
had  heard  the  General's  sharply  uttered  command ; 
noted  Lucy's  breathless  eager  longing  to  be  down 
again  ;  and  then  she  had  heard  the  front  door  open  and 
shut ;  and  she  had  listened,  almost  as  disappointedly  as 
Lucy    might  have    done,  to   Boring  don's   firm   steps 


BARBARA   REBELL.  123 

hurrying  up  the  road  past  her  windows.  If  only  she 
had  not  caught  this  stupid  cold,  all  this  might  have 
been  prevented  !  To-morrow  she  must  really  persuade 
the  doctor  to  let  her  come  down  again. 

"  Surely,  Mary,  you  don't  need  to  be  told  what  to 
say  to  the  child  !  A  mother  should  always  know  what 
to  do  and  what  to  say  in  such  a  case.  If  we  had  a  son 
and  I  thought  him  behaving  badly  to  some  girl,  I 
should  be  at  no  loss  to  tell  him  what  I  thought  of  his 
conduct, — in  fact,  I  should  think  it  my  duty  as  his 
father  to  do  so."  The  General  came  and  stood  by 
his  wife's  bed.  He  glowered  down  at  her  with  frown- 
ing, unhappy  eyes. 

"  But  that  would  be  so  different,  Tom  !  I  should  be 
quite  willing  to  speak  to  Lucy  if  I  thought  she  were 
behaving  badly — if  she  were  to  flirt,  for  instance,  as  I 
have  seen  horrid  girls  do  !  But  this,  you  see,  is  so 
different — the  poor  child  is  doing  nothing  wrong :  it  is 
we  who  have  been  wrong  to  allow  it  to  come  to  this." 

The  General  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  Then 
he  suddenly  turned  and  spoke,  "  Well,  I  think  some- 
thing ought  to  be  done.  Get  the  matter  settled  one 
way  or  the  other.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  state  of 
things!  Lucy  looks  very  far  from  well.  Such  a  case 
never  came  my  way  before." 

**  Oh  !  Tom,  is  that  quite  true  ?  " 

**  Certainly  it  is!  " — he  turned  and  faced  her, — "quite 
true.  Of  course  I've  known  men  behave  badly  to 
women,  very  badly  indeed,  who  hasn't  ?  and  women  to 
men  too,  for  the  matter  of  that.  But  I've  never  come 
across  such  an  odd  fellow  as  Boringdon.  Why,  he 
scowled  at  me  just  now, — upon  my  word  you  might  have 
thought  I  was  the  stranger  and  he  her  father  1  but  I 
took  the  opportunity  of  being  very  short  with  him — 
very  short  indeed  I  "    Then,  as  Mrs.  Kemp  sighed  a 


124  BARBARA   REBELL. 

long  involuntary  sigh,  "  No,  Mary,  in  this  matter,  you 
must  allow  me  to  have  my  own  way.  I  don't  approve 
of  that  sort  of  conduct.  It's  always  so  with  widows' 
sons — there  are  certain  things  only  a  man  can  knock 
into  'em !  I  wish  I'd  had  that  young  fellow  in  the 
regiment  for  a  bit.  It  would  have  done  him  a  great  deal 
more  good  than  the  House  of  Commons  seems  to  have 
done.  And  then  again  I  can't  at  all  see  what  Lucy  sees 
in  him.  He's  such  a  dull  dog  !  Now  Laxton — I  could 
understand  any  girl  losing  her  heart  to  Laxton  !  "  He 
walked  to  the  window.  "  There's  McKirdy  coming  in. 
I'll  go  down  and  have  a  talk  with  him.  Meanwhile, 
you  think  over  all  I've  been  saying,  Mary." 

Toor  Mrs.  Kemp !  as  if  she  ever  thought  nowadays, 
in  a  serious  sense,  of  anything  else !  But  she  was 
inclined,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  to  share  Lucy's  view  of 
Boringdon's  nature.  Perhaps  he  was  one  of  those  men — 
she  had  known  a  few  such — who  are  incapable  of  violent, 
determining  feeling.  If  that  were  so,  might  not  his 
evident  liking  for,  and  trust  in,  Lucy,  develop  into  some- 
thing quite  sufficiently  like  love  amply  to  satisfy  the  girl  ? 

And  Boringdon  ?  Boringdon  also  was  far  from  happy 
and  satisfied  during  those  days  which  had  followed  on 
his  talk  with  his  mother.  The  result  of  the  conversation 
had  been  to  make  him  deliberately  avoid  Lucy  Kemp. 
But  at  once  he  had  become  aware  that  he  missed  the 
girl — missed,  above  all,  the  power  of  turning  to  her  for 
sympathy,  and  even  to  a  certain  extent  for  counsel, 
more  than  he  would  have  thought  possible.  He  felt 
suddenly  awakened  to  a  danger  he  would  rather  not 
have  seen, — why,  oh  !  why,  had  not  his  mother  left  well 
alone  ?  The  state  of  things  which  had  existed  all  that 
summer  had  exactly  suited  him.  Looking  back,  Oliver 
felt  sure  that  Lucy  had  not  misunderstood  the  measure 


BARBARA   REBELL.  125 

of  affection  and  liking  which  he  was  willing,  nay,  eager, 
to  bestow  on  her. 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  young  man  wondered 
uneasily  why  his  mother  had  suddenly  left  off  asking  the 
girl  to  lunch  and  to  tea,  as  she  had  done,  at  one  time, 
almost  daily.  He  knew  that  Mrs.  Boringdon  rarely 
acted  without  a  definite  motive.  Often  her  eyes  would 
rest  on  his  moody  face  with  a  questioning  look.  He 
longed  to  know  why  Lucy  never  came  to  the  Cottage, 
but  he  was  unwilling  to  give  his  mother  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  him  make  such  an  inquiry.  Then  he 
reminded  himself  that,  after  all,  Mrs.  Kemp  was  really 
ill :  the  whole  village  watched  with  interest  the  daily 
visit  to  the  Grange  of  the  Halnakeham  doctor. 
Perhaps  Lucy  found  it  difficult  to  leave  home  just  now. 

Even  concerning  his  village  worries — those  connected 
with  his  work  as  land-agent  to  the  Chancton  estate — 
Boringdon  had  got  into  the  way  of  turning  to  Lucy 
Kemp  for  comfort,  and  so  he  felt  cut  off  from  the  only 
person  to  whom  he  could  talk  freely.  Then  had  come 
that  short  meeting  in  the  lane,  and  something  timid, 
embarrassed  in  Lucy's  manner  had  suddenly  made  him 
afraid,  had  put  him  on  his  guard — but  afterwards  he 
had  been  bitterly  ashamed  of  the  way  in  which  he  had 
behaved  in  leaving  her  so  abruptly. 

His  heart  grew  very  tender  to  her,  and,  had  he  not 
known  that  his  mother  was  watching  him,  he  would 
almost  certainly  have  "  made  it  up  " — have  given  way — 
and  nature  would  have  done  the  rest.  But  Oliver  was 
aware  that  any  sign  of  weakness  on  his  part  would  be  a 
triumph  for  Mrs.  Boringdon — a  proof  that  she  had 
known  how  to  shepherd  him  into  a  suitable  engagement 
with  a  well-dowered  girl :  and  so  he  had  held  out, 
knowing  secretly  that  it  only  rested  with  him  to  restore 
his  old  relation  with  Lucy  to  its  former  footing. 


126  BARBARA   REBELL. 

At  last,  it  had  been  Mrs.  Boringdon  who  had  asked 
him,  in  her  most  innocent  and  conventional  voice,  to 
take  a  note  from  her  to  Mrs.  Kemp,  and  the  accident 
that  it  had  been  Lucy  who  had  opened  the  front  door 
had  been  enough  to  shake  his  resolution,  and  to  break 
down  the  barrier  which  he  had  put  up  between  himself 
and  her.  At  the  time  he  had  been  carrying  the  letter 
concerning  his  old  constituency  about  with  him  for  two 
days,  and  the  temptation  to  tell  Lucy  all  about  it  proved 
too  strong.  Hence  he  had  followed  her  through  into 
the  quiet  fragrant  garden  which  held  for  him  so  many 
pleasant  associations  of  interesting,  intimate  talk  with 
both  the  mother  and  the  daughter. 

Then,  almost  at  once,  had  come  the  sharp,  he  told 
himself  resentfully  the  utterly  unwarrantable,  interrup- 
tion— more,  there  had  been  no  mistaking  General 
Kemp's  manner — that  of  the  man  who  cries  **  hands 
off!"  from  some  cherished  possession.  Boringdon's 
guilty  conscience — it  was  indeed  hard  that  his  con- 
science should  feel  guilty,  for  he  was  not  aware  of 
having  done  anything  of  which  he  should  be  ashamed — 
Boringdon's  guilty  conscience  at  once  suggested  the 
terrible  thought  that  General  Kemp  doubtless  regarded 
him  as  a  fortune-hunter.  When  the  front  door  of  the 
Grange  had  closed  on  him  he  felt  as  if  he  could  never 
come  there  again,  and  as  if  one  of  the  pleasantest 
pages  of  his  life  had  suddenly  closed. 

He  determined  to  say  nothing  of  the  pregnant,  even 
if  almost  wordless,  little  scene  to  his  mother,  and  it 
was  with  a  nervous  dread  of  questions  and  cross 
questions  that  he  entered  the  drawing-room  of  the 
Cottage  with  words  concerning  a  very  different  person 
from  Lucy  Kemp  on  his  lips.  **  Don't  you  think,"  he 
asked,  "that  the  time  has  come  when  we  ought  to  do 
something  about  Mrs.  Rebell  ?     She  has  been  here,  it 


BARBARA  REBELL.  127 

seems,  at  least  a  week,  and  several  people  have  already 
called  on  her." 

Mrs.  Boringdon  looked  at  her  son  with  some  surprise, 
and  he  saw  with  satisfaction  that  his  little  ruse  had 
been  successful ;  the  news  he  brought  had  made  her 
forget,  for  the  moment,  the  Grange  and  Lucy  Kemp. 

"  Several  people  ?  "  she  repeated,  "  I  think,  my  dear 
boy,  you  must  be  mistaken.  No  one  ever  calls  at 
Chancton  Priory.  How  could  anyone — unless  you 
mean  Miss  Vipen  and  the  Rectory,"  she  smiled 
slightingly — "  have  even  been  made  aware  of  this 
Mrs.  Rebell's  arrival  ?  " 

**  And  yet  there's  no  doubt  about  it,"  he  said  irritably, 
"  I  had  the  list  from  McKirdy,  who  seemed  to  take 
these  calls  as  a  personal  compliment  to  himself!  Miss 
Berwick  drove  over  two  or  three  days  ago,  and  so  did 
the  Duchess  of  Appleby  and  Kendal."  He  waited  a 
moment,  feeling  rather  ashamed.  He  had  known  how  to 
rouse  his  mother  to  considerable  interest  and  excitement. 

"The  Duchess?"  she  echoed  incredulously. — Most 
country  districts  in  England  have  a  duchess,  and  this 
district  was  no  exception  to  the  rule, — "  what  an  extra- 
ordinary thing  !  I  should  have  called  on  Mrs.  Rebell, 
Grace's  friend,  before  now,  but  it  seemed  so  strange 
that  she  was  not  in  church.  It  made  me  fear" — 
Mrs.  Boringdon  looked  slightly  shocked  and  genuinely 
grieved — "  that  she  was  going  to  follow  the  example  of 
all  the  other  people  connected  with  the  Priory." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  that,  mother.  It 
is  quite  impossible  for  Madame  Sampiero  to  go  to 
church,  even  if  she  wished  to  do  so.  As  for  McKirdy,  I 
suppose  he  is  a  Presbyterian,  but  the  Priory  servants  all 
go,  don't  they?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Boringdon,  reluctantly,  "the  servants 
certainly  do  go, — that   is,   the  lower   servants.       No 


ia8  BARBARA  REBELL. 

one  has  ever  seen  the  housekeeper  at  church,  and,  of 
course  the  state  of  things  here  must  grieve  Mr.  Sampson 
very  much." 

OHver  smiled  grimly.  "  If  that  is  really  so,  Sampson 
doesn't  know  when  he's  well  off.  The  sight  of  Mrs. 
Turke,  resplendent  in  a  new  gown  each  Sunday,  would 
certainly  distract  the  congregation  from  his  dull 
sermon  !  "  But  Mrs.  Boringdon  bent  her  head  gravely, 
as  if  refusing  to  discuss  so  unsavoury  and  painful  a 
subject. 

**  Have  you  seen  her  ?  "  she  asked  with  some  natural 
curiosity.  She  added  hastily,  "  I  mean,  of  course, 
Mrs.  Rebell." 

"No,"  he  said,  "but  I  expect  to  do  so  in  a  few 
minutes.  I  saw  McKirdy  in  the  village  just  now,  and 
profiting  by  his  absence,  I'm  going  to  try  and  establish 
some  kind  of  communication  between  Madame  Sam- 
piero  and  myself.  There's  a  most  urgent  matter  which 
ought  to  be  settled  at  once,  and  McKirdy  was  so 
disagreeable  the  last  time  we  met  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  bring  him  into  it  if  I  can  possibly  avoid  it." 

The  Chancton  estate,  in  addition  to  two  villages, 
comprised  many  large  farms  stretching  out  on  the 
fringe  of  the  downs,  and  no  day  went  by  without  the 
transaction  by  Boringdon  of  much  complicated  and 
tiresome  business.  In  this,  however,  there  would 
naturally  have  been  much  to  interest  such  a  man  as 
himself,  especially  as  he  and  Berwick  had  theories 
about  agricultural  problems  and  were  eager  to  try 
experiments — in  fact,  Berwick  was  already  doing  so 
very  successfully  on  his  Sussex  estate. 

But  for  Boringdon,  the  new  work  to  which  he  had 
set  his  hand  had  soon  been  poisoned,  owing  to  the 
peculiar  conditions  under  which  he  was  compelled  to 


BARBARA   REBELL.  109 

do  it.  His  immediate  predecessor  had  been  Doctor 
McKirdy,  whose  duties  as  medical  attendant  to 
Madame  Sampiero  had  comprised  for  a  while  that  of 
being  her  vice-regent  as  regarded  estate  matters. 
That  arrangement  had  been  anything  but  a  success, 
hence  the  appointment,  through  Lord  Bosworth's,  or 
rather  through  James  Berwick's,  influence,  of  Oliver 
Boringdon.  The  change  had  been  made  the  more  easy 
because  McKirdy,  with  an  obstinacy  worthy  of  a  better 
cause,  had  always  refused  to  accept  any  payment  for 
this  extra  labour. 

At  first,  the  old  Scotchman  had  been  glad  to  give 
up  the  work  he  knew  himself  to  have  performed  inade- 
quately. Then,  as  time  went  on,  he  began  to  interfere, 
and  Boringdon  discovered,  with  anger  and  astonish- 
ment, that  many  matters  were  being  gradually  referred, 
both  by  the  greater  and  the  lesser  tenants,  directly  to 
Madame  Sampiero,  or  rather  to  the  man  who  was 
still  regarded,  and  with  reason,  as  her  vice-regent. 

The  doctor  also  insisted  on  being  the  sole  means 
of  communication  between  his  patient  and  Boringdon. 
This  was  after  he  had  found  them  speaking  together, — 
or  rather  Boringdon  speaking  and  Madame  Sampiero 
listening, — concerning  some  public  matter  quite  uncon- 
nected with  Chancton.  From  that  moment,  Alexander 
McKirdy  had  set  his  very  considerable  wits  to  work 
against  the  younger  man.  He  had  informed  him 
with  sharp  decision  that  his  weekly  audiences  with  his 
employer  must  cease :  pointing  out  that  almost  every- 
thing that  must  be  referred  to  her  could  be  so  done 
through  him.  Boringdon,  for  a  while,  had  felt  con- 
tent that  this  should  be  so — he  had  always  had  a 
curious  fear  and  repugnance  of  the  still  stiff  figure, 
which  seemed  to  be  at  once  so  physically  dead  and  so 
mentally  alive. 

B.X.  K 


130  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Then  had  come  the  gradual  awakening,  the  realisa- 
tion of  his  folly  in  consenting  to  an  arrangement  which 
destroyed  his  authority  with  those  with  whom  he  was 
brought  into  daily  contact.  Even  the  humblest  cottager 
had  soon  discovered  that  the  doctor,  or  *'  Kirdy,"  as 
he  was  unceremoniously  styled  amongst  themselves, 
was  once  more  the  real  over-lord  of  Chancton,  and 
Boringdon  found  himself  reduced  to  the  disagreeable 
role  of  rent  collector,  his  decisions  concerning  any 
important  matter  being  constantly  appealed  from,  and 
revoked  by,  the  joint  authority  of  Madame  Sampiero 
and  Doctor  McKirdy. 

The  situation  soon  became  almost  intolerable  to  the 
high-spirited  and  sensitive  young  man :  if  it  had  not 
been  for  his  mother,  and  for  the  fact  that  the  very 
generous  income  allotted  to  him  for  the  little  he  now 
did  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  her,  he  would  ere 
this  have  resigned  the  land  agency. 

His  pride  prevented  any  mention  of  the  odious 
position  in  which  he  found  himself  to  Berwick,  the 
more  so  that  in  theory  he  had  all  the  power — it  was  to 
him,  for  instance,  that  Madame  Sampiero's  lawyers 
wrote  when  anything  had  to  be  settled  or  done. 
McKirdy  also  always  allowed  him  to  carry  on  any 
negotiations  with  neighbouring  landowners.  Boringdon 
had  a  free  hand  as  regarded  the  keepers  and  the  shoot- 
ing— indeed,  it  was  only  with  regard  to  the  sporting 
amenities  of  the  estate  that  he  was  really  in  the  position 
of  master  rather  than  servant. 

To  his  mother  he  always  made  light  of  his  troubles, 
though  he  was  well  aware  that  he  had  her  ardent 
sympathy,  which  took  the,  to  him,  disagreeable  form 
of  slight  discourtesies  to  Doctor  McKirdy— discourtesies 
which  were  returned  with  full  interest  by  the  old 
Scotchman.    To  Lucy  and  to  Lucy's  mother  he  had 


BARBARA   REBELL.  131 

been  more  frank,  and  all  she  knew  had  not  contributed 
to  make  Lucy  feel  kindly  to  Doctor  McKirdy,  though 
he  was  quite  unconscious  of  how  he  was  regarded 
by  her. 

To-day,  matters  had  come,  so  felt  Borlngdon,  to  a 
head.  On  his  way  from  the  Cottage  to  the  Grange,  he 
had  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  estate  office,  and 
there  had  engaged  in  a  sharp  discussion  with  one  of 
the  more  important  Chancton  farmers  concerning  a 
proposed  remittance  of  rent.  The  man  had  brought 
his  Michaelmas  rent  in  notes  and  gold,  the  sum  con- 
siderably short,  according  to  Boringdon,  of  what  should 
have  been  paid.  The  land-agent  had  refused  to  accept 
the  money,  and  the  farmer,  naturally  enough,  had 
declared  it  to  be  his  intention  to  make  an  appeal  to 
Madame  Sampiero  through  Doctor  McKirdy. 

It  had  been  partly  to  turn  his  mind  from  the  odious 
memory  of  this  conversation  that  the  young  man  had 
not  been  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  following 
Lucy  through  into  the  garden  with  which  he  had  so 
many  pleasant  memories,  and  once  there,  of  showing 
her  the  letter  which  seemed  to  point  to  an  ultimate 
escape  from  Chancton,  and  all  that  Chancton  now 
represented  of  annoyance  and  humiliation. 

Leaving  the  Grange,  he  had  passed  Doctor  McKirdy, 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  try  and  see  Madame 
Sampiero  within  the  next  few  hours.  If  it  came  to 
the  point,  he  believed  he  could  conquer,  only,  however, 
by  calling  to  his  aid  the  Bosworth  faction,  but  the 
thought  of  an  appeal  to  Berwick  was  still,  nay,  more 
than  ever,  disagreeable.  At  the  same  time  this  was  a 
test  case.  He  was  sorry  that  his  mother  had  not 
called  on  Mrs.  Rebell,  for  he  was  dimly  aware  that  the 
trifling  lack  of  courtesy  would  give  McKirdy  a  slight 
advantage,  but  during  the  last  few  days  he  had  had 

K  9 


132  BARBARA   REBELL. 

other  things  to  think  of  than  his  sister's  unfortunate 
prot^g^e,  in  whom,  however,  he  unwillingly  recognised 
another  adherent  to  the  McKirdy  faction. 

And  yet  the  first  meeting  of  Boringdon  and  Barbara 
Rebel!  fell  out  in  such  wise  that  it  led  to  a  curiously 
sudden  intimacy,  bred  of  something  between  pity  and 
indignation  on  her  side  and  gratitude  on  his. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"She  whom  I  have  praised  so, 
Yields  delight  for  reason  too : 
Who  could  dote  on  thing  so  common 
As  mere  outward-handsome  woman  ? 
Such  half-beauties  only  win 
Fools  to  let  affection  in." 

Wither. 

Mrs.  Rebell  was  sitting  by  her  god-mother's  couch, 
pouring  out  tea.  She  had  just  come  in  from  a  walk  on 
the  downs,  and  as  she  sat  there,  her  eyes  shining,  the 
colour  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks,  Madame 
Sampiero's  gaze  rested  on  her  with  critical  pleasure  and 
approval,  lingering  over  every  detail  of  the  pretty 
brown  cloth  gown  and  neat  plumed  hat,  both  designed 
by  a  famous  French  arbiter  of  fashion  who  in  the  long 
ago  had  counted  Madame  Sampiero  as  among  his 
earliest  and  most  faithful  patronesses. 

The  last  few  days  had  been  to  Mrs.  Rebell  days  of 
conquest.  She  had  conquered  the  right  to  come  in 
and  out  of  her  god-mother's  room  without  first  asking 
formal  leave  of  Doctor  McKirdy,  and  he  had  given 
in  with  a  good  grace.  She  had  won  the  heart  of 
Mrs.  Turke,  and  was  now  free  of  the  old  housekeeper's 
crowded  sitting-room  ;  and  she  had  made  friends  also 
with  all  the  dumb  creatures  about  the  place. 

Then  again,  the  pretty  gowns,  the  many  charming 
trifles  which  had  come  from  Paris,  and  which  she  had 
been  made  to  try  on,  one  by  one,  in  her  god-mother's 
presence,  contributed,  though  she  felt  rather  ashamed 
of  it,  to  her  feeling  of  light-heartedness.      Barbara 


134  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Rebell,  moving  as  one  at  home  about  the  Priory, 
looked  another  creature  from  the  shrinking  sad-eyed 
woman  who  had  arrived  at  Chancton  a  fortnight  before, 
believing  that  youth,  and  all  the  glad  things  that  youth 
represents,  lay  far  behind  her. 

There  came  a  knock,  McGregor's  discreet  knock,  at 
the  door.  Barbara  sprang  up,  and  a  moment  later 
came  back  with  a  letter,  one  which  the  bearer  had 
apparently  not  dared  to  put  by,  as  was  the  rule  with 
such  missives,  and  indeed  with  all  letters  addressed  to 
the  mistress  of  the  Priory,  till  Doctor  McKirdy  was 
ready  to  read  them,  and  to  transmit  such  portions  of 
their  contents  as  he  thought  fit  to  his  friend  and  patient. 

"  A  note  for  you,  Marraine  !  "  The  French  equiva- 
lent for  god-mother  had  always  been  used  by  Barbara 
Rebell  both  as  child  and  girl  in  her  letters  to  Madame 
Sampiero,  and  she  had  now  discovered  that  it  was 
preferred  to  its  more  formal  English  equivalent,  or  to 
the  "  Madam  "  which  all  those  about  her  used.  "  Shall 
I  read  it  to  you  ?  " 

Barbara  was  looking  down  at  the  letter  which  she 
held  in  her  hand  with  some  surprise.  The  ink  was  not 
yet  dry, — it  must  therefore  have  been  written,  in  great 
haste,  just  now  in  the  hall,  and  must  call  for  an 
immediate  answer.  She  waited  for  a  sign  of  assent, 
and  then  opened  the  envelope : — 

"  Dear  Madame  Sampiero, — I  am  sorry  to  trouble 
you,  but  I  fear  I  must  ask  you  to  see  me  at  your  early 
convenience  about  a  certain  matter  concerning  which 
your  personal  opinion  and  decision  are  urgently  required. 
Perhaps  you  will  kindly  send  me  word  as  to  what  time 
will  suit  you  for  me  to  come  and  see  you. 
**  Yours  faithfully, 

"  Oliver  Boringdom." 


BARBARA  REBELL.  135 

Madame  Sampiero's  eyelids  flickered,  **  Would  you 
like  to  see  him,  child — our  Chancton  jeune  premier?  " 
and  the  ghost  of  a  satirical  smile  hovered  over  the  still 
face  and  quivering  mouth. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Marraine,  if  it  would  not  tire  you! 
You  know  it  was  his  sister  who  was  so  kind  to  me  in 
Santa  Maria.  May  I  send  for  him  now  ?  He  evidently 
wants  to  see  you  about  something  very  important — " 

But  McGregor,  convinced  that  there  would  be  no 
answer  to  the  note  he  had  most  unwillingly  conveyed 
upstairs,  had  not  waited,  as  Barbara  had  expected  to 
find,  in  the  corridor.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then, 
gathering  up  her  long  brown  skirts,  ran  down  to  the 
hall. 

Boringdon  was  walking  up  and  down,  waiting  with 
dogged  patience  for  the  message  which  might,  after  all, 
not  be  sent  to  him.  "  Will  you  kindly  come  up — now 
— to  Madame  Sampiero  ?  She  is  quite  ready  to  see 
you  1 "  To  the  young  man  the  low,  very  clear  voice, 
seemed  at  that  moment  the  sweetest  in  the  world :  he 
turned  round  quickly  and  looked  at  the  messenger  with 
a  good  deal  of  curiosity. 

No  thought  that  this  elegant-looking  girl  could  be 
Mrs.  Rebell  came  to  his  mind.  Doubtless  she  was  one 
of  the  few  people  connected  with  Madame  Sampiero's 
past  life — perhaps  one  of  the  cousins  who  sometimes 
came  to  Chancton,  and  whom,  occasionally,  but  very 
rarely  as  the  years  had  gone  on,  the  paralysed  woman 
consented  to  receive. 

Rather  bewildered  at  the  ease  with  which  the  fortress 
had  been  stormed  and  taken,  he  followed  the  unknown 
young  lady  upstairs.  But  once  in  the  corridor,  when 
close  to  Madame  Sampiero's  door,  Barbara  stopped, 
and  with  heightened  colour  she  said,  **  I  know  that  you 
are  Grace  Johnstone's  brother,  I  have  been  hoping  the 


136  BARBARA  REBELL. 

last  few  days  to  go  and  see  your  mother.  Will  yot» 
please  tell  her  how  much  I  look  forward  to  meeting 
her  ?  "  And  before  he  could  make  any  answer,  she 
whom  Boringdon  now  knew  to  be  Mrs.  Rebell  hadi 
opened  the  door,  and  was  motioning  him  to  precede  her 
into  the  room  into  which  he  had  not  been  allowed  tof 
come  for  two  months. 

A  moment  later  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  Madame 
Sampiero's  couch,  feeling  the  place  in  which  he  found 
himself  curiously  transformed,  the  atmosphere  about 
him  more  human,  less  frigid  than  in  those  days  when 
his  weekly  conferences  with  the  owner  of  Chancton  had 
been  regarded  by  him  with  such  discomfort  and  dread. 

The  presence  of  the  low  table  on  which  now  lay  a 
tea-tray  and  a  bowl  of  freshly-gathered  roses  aifected 
him  agreeably,  though  he  still  quailed  inwardly  when  > 
his  eyes  met  those  of  the  paralysed  woman  stretched 
out  before  him :  Boringdon  was  not  imaginative,  and 
yet  these  wide  open  blue  eyes  had  often  haunted  him — 
to-day  they  rested  on  him  kindly,  and  then  looked 
beyond  him,  softening  as  they  met  those  of  her  god- 
daughter. 

Before  he  was  allowed  to  begin  on  what  he  felt  to  be 
such  disagreeable  business,  Mrs.  Rebell — the  woman 
whom  he  now  knew  to  be  his  sister's  friend,  and  regard- 
ing whom  he  was  being  compelled  to  alter,  moment  by 
moment,  all  his  preconceived  notions — had  poured  him 
out  a  cup  of  tea,  and  had  installed  him  by  her  side. 
Later,  when  she  made  a  movement  as  if  to  leave  him 
alone  with  Madame  Sampiero,  she  was  stopped  with 
a  look,  and  Boringdon,  far  from  feeling  the  presence  of 
a  third  person  as  disagreeable  and  as  unwarranted  as  he 
had  always  felt  that  of  McKirdy  or  of  Mrs.  Turke,  was 
glad  that  Mrs.  Rebell  had  been  made  to  stay,  and  aware, 
in  some  odd  way,  that  in  her  he  would  have  an  ally  and 


BARBARA    REBELL.  137 

not,  as  had  always  been  the  case  with  McKirdy,  a  critic, 
if  not  an  enemy. 

After  a  short  discussion,  he  was  allowed  to  go  with 
the  point  settled  to  his  satisfaction.  Madame  Sampiero 
had  retained  all  her  shrewdness,  and  all  her  essential  just- 
ness of  character ;  moreover,  his  case,  presented  partly 
through  the  medium  of  Barbara's  voice,  had  seemed 
quite  other  than  what  it  would  have  done  explained 
inimically  by  Alexander  McKirdy.  Indeed,  during  the 
discussion  Boringdon  had  the  curious  feeling  that  this 
soft- voiced  stranger,  who,  after  all,  was  in  no  position 
to  judge  between  himself  and  the  peccant  farmer, 
was  being  made  to  give  the  ultimate  decision.  It  was 
Barbara  also  who  had  to  repeat,  to  make  clear  to  him, 
reddening  and  smiling  as  she  did  so,  her  god-mother's 
last  words,  "  If  you're  not  busy,  you  might  take  Mrs. 
Rebell  down  to  the  Beeches.  The  trees  won't  look  as 
well  as  they  are  doing  now  in  a  week's  time;"  and 
while  murmuring  the  words  Madame  Sampiero's  eyes 
had  turned  with  indefinable  longing  towards  the  high 
windows  which  commanded  the  wide  view  she  loved 
and  knew  so  well,  but  which  from  where  she  lay  only 
showed  the  sky. 

A  rude  awakening  awaited  both  Barbara  and  Boring- 
don in  the  hall  below ;  and  a  feeling  of  guilt, — an  absurd 
unwarrantable  feeling,  so  he  told  himself  again  and 
again  when  he  thought  over  the  scene  later, — swept 
over  the  young  man  when  he  saw  Doctor  McKirdy 
pacing,  with  quick  angry  steps,  that  very  stretch  of 
flag-stones  where  he  himself  had  walked  up  and  down 
so  impatiently  half  an  hour  before. 

**  So  you've  been  up  to  see  her  ?  Against  my  very 
strict  orders — orders,  mind  ye,  given  as  Madam's  medical 
man!     Well,   well!   All  I  can  say  is,  that  I'm  aot 


138  BARBARA   REBELL. 

responsible  for  what  the  consequences  may  be.  Madam's 
not  fit  to  be  worried  o'er  business — not  fit  at  all  1  "  The 
words  came  out  in  sharp  jerky  sentences,  and  as  he 
spoke  Doctor  McKirdy  scowled  at  the  young  man, 
twisting  his  hands  together,  a  trick  he  had  when 
violently  disturbed. 

As  the  two  culprits  came  towards  him  he  broke  out 
again,  almost  turning  his  back  on  them  as  he  spoke, 
**  I  cannot  think  what  possessed  the  man  McGregor ! 
He  will  have  to  be  dismissed,  not  a  doubt  about  it ! 
He  has  the  strictest,  the  very  strictest  orders — he 
must  have  been  daft  before  he  could  take  up  a  stranger 
to  Madam's  room !  "  There  was  a  world  of  scorn  in 
the  way  in  which  McKirdy  pronounced  the  word 
"  stranger." 

Angry  as  Boringdon  had  now  become,  indignant  with 
the  old  man  for  so  attacking  him  in  the  presence  of  one 
who  was,  as  Oliver  did  not  fail  to  remind  himself,  the 
real  stranger  to  all  their  concerns,  he  yet  felt  that  to  a 
certain  extent  the  doctor's  anger  and  indignation  were 
justified.  Boringdon  knew  well  enough  that,  but  for 
McKirdy's  absence  from  the  Priory  that  afternoon,  he 
could  never  have  penetrated  into  Madame  Sampiero's 
presence.  He  had  also  been  aware  that  McGregor 
was  acting  in  direct  contravention  of  the  doctor's 
orders,  and  that  nothing  but  his  own  grim  determina- 
tion to  be  obeyed  had  made  the  man  take  his  note 
upstairs.  All  this  being  so,  he  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing of  a  conciliatory  nature,  when  suddenly  Mrs. 
Rebell  came  forward — 

"  It  is  I,"  she  said — and  Boringdon  saw  that  she 
showed  no  sign  of  quailing  before  Doctor  McKirdy's 
furious  looks — *'who  asked  my  god-mother  to  see  Mr. 
Boringdon,  and  so  it  is  I  alone.  Doctor  McKirdy,  who 
should  be  blamed  for  what  has  happened.    Madame 


BARBARA  REBELL.  139 

Sampiero  asked  my  advice  as  to  whether  she  should 
see  him,  and  as  the  matter  seemed  urgent,  I  decided 
that  she  had  better  do  so  at  once,  instead  of  waiting, 
as  I  should  perhaps  have  done,  to  ask  you  if  she  was 
fit  to  do  so." 

She  looked  inquiringly  from  one  man  to  the  other — 
at  the  old  Scotchman  whose  face  still  twitched  with 
rage,  and  whose  look  of  aversion  at  herself  she  felt  to 
be  cruelly  unjust,  almost,  she  would  have  said,  had 
she  not  become  really  fond  of  him,  impertinent ;  and  at 
Boringdon,  who  also  looked  angry,  but  not  as  surprised 
as  she  would  have  expected  him  to  be  before  so  strange 
an  outburst. 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  and  then, 
suddenly,  Barbara  herself  caught  fire.  Like  most 
gentle,  self-restrained  natures,  she  was  capable  of 
feeling  deep  instant  gusts  of  anger,  and  one  of  these 
now  swept  over  her. 

**  If  you  will  go  up  and  see  Madame  Sampiero,"  she 
spoke  very  coldly,  **  I  think  you  will  admit,  Doctor 
McKirdy,  that  my  god-mother  has  not  been  in  any 
way  injured  by  seeing  Mr.  Boringdon."  She  turned, 
rather  imperiously,  to  the  young  man.  **  I  think,"  she 
said,  "that  now  we  had  better  go  out.  I  suppose  it 
will  take  at  least  half  an  hour  to  walk  round  by  the 
Beeches,  and  later  my  god-mother  will  be  expecting  me 
back  to  read  to  her." 

Without  again  glancing  at  Doctor  McKirdy,  Mrs. 
Rebell  walked  across  to  the  vestibule,  and  so  out  into 
the  open  air,  Boringdon  following  her  rather  shame- 
facedly, and  in  silence  they  struck  off  down  the  path 
which  led  round  the  great  meadow-like  enclosure  to 
the  broad  belt  of  beeches  which  were  the  glory  of 
Chancton  Priory. 

Then,  somewhat   to  his   own    surprise,  Boringdon, 


140  BARBARA   REBELL. 

found  himself  making  excuses  for  the  old  Scotchman, 
while  explaining  to  Mrs.  Rebell  the  odd  position  in 
which  he  often  found  himself.  The  conversation  which 
followed  caused  strides,  which  might  otherwise  have 
taken  weeks  or  even  months  to  achieve,  in  his  own  and 
Barbara's  intimacy. 

Very  little  was  said  of  Grace  Johnstone  and  of  Santa 
Maria;  it  was  of  the  Priory,  and  of  its  stricken 
mistress,  of  Chancton  and  of  Doctor  McKirdy,  that 
they  talked,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  Boringdon  to 
hear  his  own  part  being  taken  to  himself,  to  hear 
McKirdy  severely  censured  in  the  grave  low  voice 
whose  accents  had  sounded  so  sweetly  in  his  ears 
when  it  had  come  to  call  hira  to  Madame  Sampiero's 
presence. 

So  eager  was  their  talk,  so  absorbed  were  they  in 
what  they  were  saying,  that  neither  had  eyes  for  the 
noble  trees  arching  overhead ;  and  when  at  last  they 
came  out,  from  the  twilight  of  the  beeches,  into 
the  open  air,  Barbara  felt  respect  and  liking  for  the 
young  man. 

When  they  were  once  more  close  to  the  house,  she 
put  up  her  hand  v^dth  a  quick  gesture.  **  Don't  come  up 
with  me  to  the  porch,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sure  you  had 
better  not  meet  Doctor  McKirdy — I  mean  for  the 
present."  He  obeyed  her  silently,  though  for  the 
moment  he  felt  not  unkindly  towards  the  old  man  he 
had  conquered  in  what,  he  confessed  to  himself,  had 
been  unfair  fight.  With  Mrs.  Rebell  on  his  side  he 
could  afford  to  smile  at  McKirdy's  queer  suscepti- 
bilities and  jealousies.  He  must  come  and  see  her 
to-morrow ;  there  seemed  so  much  more  to  say,  to 
ask  too,  about  Grace — dear  Grace,  who  had  written 
with  such  warm-hearted  feeling  of  this  charming, 
interesting  woman  who  ought  to  be,  so  Boringdon 


BARBARA   REBELL.  141 

told  himself,  a  most  agreeable  and  softening  influence 
at  the  Priory, 

That  same  evening,  Mrs.  Boringdon,  after  much 
hesitation  and  searching  of  heart,  ventured  to  ask  her 
son  a  question. 

"  How  did  you  find  them  all  at  the  Grange  ?  It 
seems  a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  Lucy." 

Oliver's  face  clouded  over,  but  he  was  surprised  at 
his  own  calmness,  his  absence  of  annoyance;  that 
disagreeable  episode  at  the  Grange  now  seemed  to  have 
happened  long  ago. 

"  Everything  was  as  usual,"  he  answered  hesitatingly ; 
" — at  least,  no,  I  should  not  say  that,  for  General 
Kemp's  manner  to  me  was  far  from  being  usual.  I 
cannot  help  thinking,  mother,  that  you  made  a  mistake 
the  other  day — I  mean  as  regards  Lucy;" — a  note 
of  reserve  and  discomfort  crept  into  his  voice  as  he  pro- 
nounced her  name, — "  The  General's  manner  was 
unmistakable,  he  all  but  showed  me  the  door !  I 
think  it  would  be  as  well,  both  for  you  and  for  me,  if  we 
were  to  put  all  thought  of  her  from  our  minds,  and  to 
see,  in  the  future,  less  of  her." 

Boringdon  found  it  less  easy  to  answer  his  mother's 
next  question,  "  And  Madame  Sampiero, — I  suppose 
you  did  not  see  her  to-day?  I  wonder  if  she  sees 
anything  of  Mrs.  Rebell  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  he  said,  rather  reluctantly,  "  McKirdy  was 
out,  and  I  had,  on  the  whole,  a  satisfactory  interview 
with  Madame  Sampiero,  owing  it,  in  a  measure,  to  Mrs. 
Rebell.  Madame  Sampiero  is  evidently  very  fond  of 
her.  By  the  way,  she — I  mean  Mrs.  Rebell — sent  you 
a  nice  message  about  Grace." 

*'  Oh  !  then  she's  a  pleasant  woman — I'm  so  glad  I 
Everything  makes  a  difference  in  a  little  place  like 


142  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Chancton.  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Boringdon  spoke  absently, 
but  her  son  knew  that  she  would  require  an  answer, 
**  that  Mrs.  Rebell  did  not  mention  Miss  Berwick,  or 
the  Duchess?  " 

"  Oh !  no,  mother,"  Oliver  answered  rather  drily, 
"  Why  should  she  have  done  so — to  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  well — as  a  kind  of  hint  that  I  ought  to  have 
called.  I  hope  you  explained  the  matter  to  her  ?  I 
mean  to  go  there  to-morrow." 

Boringdon  made  no  remark.  He  had  no  intention, 
nay,  he  had  an  instinctive  dislike  to  the  idea,  of  discussing 
Mrs.  Rebell  with  his  mother,  and  he  vaguely  hoped  that 
they  would  never  become  intimate. 

Arabella  Berwick  was  sitting  in  the  little  room, 
originally  a  powder  closet,  which  was  set  aside  for  her 
use  at  Fletchings.  It  was  well  out  of  the  way,  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  old  manor-house,  tucked  away  between 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  very  little  used  except  in 
the  evening,  and  the  long  music  gallery,  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  Miss  Berwick  that  very  few  among  the 
many  who  came  and  went  each  summer  and  autumn  to 
Fletchings  were  aware  of  the  existence  of  this,  her 
favourite  retreat. 

In  the  Powdering  Room,  as  it  was  still  called,  Lord 
Bosworth's  niece  wrote  her  letters,  scrutinised  with 
severely  just  eyes  the  various  household  accounts,  and 
sometimes  allowed  herself  an  hour  of  complete  relaxa- 
tion and  rest.  The  panelled  walls,  painted  a  pale  blue, 
were  hung  with  a  few  fine  engravings  of  the  more 
famous  Stuart  portraits,  including  two  of  that  Arabella 
Stuart  after  whom  Miss  Berwick  had  been  herself 
named.  There  was  also,  on  the  old-fashioned  davenport 
at  which  she  wrote  her  letters,  a  clever  etching  of  her 
brother,  done  when  James  Berwick  was  at  Oxford. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  143 

The  mistress  of  such  a  house  has  a  well-filled,  and 
indeed  often  a  tiring,  life,  unless  she  be  blessed  with  a 
highly  paid,  and  what  is  not  always  the  same  thing,  a 
highly  competent,  housekeeper  and  factotum,  to  take 
the  material  cares  off  her  shoulders.  Lord  Bosworth 
was  nothing  if  not  hospitable.  There  was  a  constant 
coming  and  going  of  agreeable  men  and  women  in 
whatever  place  he  happened  to  find  himself.  He 
disliked  solitude,  and  in  the  long  years  Miss  Berwick 
had  kept  her  uncle's  house,  she  could  scarcely  remember 
a  day  in  which  they  had  been  absolutely  alone  together. 

As  a  high-spirited,  clever  girl,  brought  suddenly  from 
the  companionship  of  an  austere  aunt  and  chaperon, 
she  had  found  the  life  a  very  agreeable  one,  and  she 
had  set  her  whole  mind  to  making  it  successful.  Even 
now,  she  had  pleasant,  nay  delightful,  moments,  but  as 
she  grew  older,  and  above  all,  as  Lord  Bosworth  grew 
older,  much  in  the  life  weighed  upon  her,  and  any  added 
trouble  or  anxiety  was  apt  to  prove  almost  unbearable. 

To-day,  she  had  received  a  letter  from  her  brother 
which  had  caused  her  acute  annoyance.  James  Berwick 
was  coming  back,  a  full  fortnight  before  she  had 
expected  him, — his  excuse,  that  of  wishing  to  be  present 
at  the  coming-of-age  festivities  of  Lord  Pendragon, 
the  Duke  of  Appleby  and  Kendal's  only  son,  which 
were  shortly  to  take  place  at  Halnakeham  Castle.  He 
had  always  had, — so  his  sister  reminded  herself  with 
curling  lip, — a  curious  attachment  to  this  neighbour- 
hood, a  great  desire  to  play  a  part  in  all  local  matters  ; 
this  was  the  more  strange  as  the  Berwicks'  only  con- 
nection with  Sussex  had  been  the  purchase  of  Fletchings 
by  their  uncle,  and  James  Berwick's  own  inheritance 
from  his  wife  of  Chillingworth,  the  huge  place,  full 
of  a  rather  banal  grandeur,  where  its  present  possessor 
spent  but  little  of  his  time. 


144  BARBARA   REBELL. 

There  were  three  reasons  why  Miss  Berwick  would 
have  much  preferred  that  her  brother  should  carry  out 
his  original  plan.  The  first,  and  from  her  point  of  view 
the  most  important,  concerned,  as  did  most  important 
matters  to  Arabella,  Berwick  himself.  She  had  just 
learned,  from  one  of  the  guests  who  had  arrived  at 
Fletchings  the  day  before,  that  the  woman  whom,  on 
the  whole,  she  regarded  as  having  most  imperilled  her 
brother,  would  almost  certainly  be  one  of  the  ducal 
house-party  at  Halnakeham.  This  lady,  a  certain  Mrs. 
Marshall,  was  now  a  widow,  and  the  sister  feared  her 
with  a  great  fear. 

The  second  reason  was  one  more  personal  to  herself 
Miss  Berwick  was  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  about  a 
certain  matter,  and  she  felt  that  her  brother's  presence 
— nay,  even  the  mere  fact  of  his  being  in  the  neighbour- 
hood— would  make  it  more  difficult  for  her  to  do  so. 
She  knew  herself  to  be  on  the  eve  of  receiving  a  very 
desirable  offer  of  marriage.  Its  acceptance  by  her 
would  be,  in  a  sense,  the  crowning  act  of  her  successful 
life.  The  man  was  an  ambassador,  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  her  uncle's  friends,  a  childless  widower, 
who,  as  she  had  long  known,  both  liked  and  respected 
her.  In  a  few  days  he  would  be  at  Fletchings,  and  she 
knew  that  the  time  had  come  when  she  must  make  up 
her  mind  to  say  yes  or  to  say  no. 

The  third  complication,  from  the  thought  of  which 
Miss  Berwick  shrank  with  a  pain  which  surprised 
herself,  was  the  fact  that  both  Lord  Bosworth,  and 
now  her  brother  in  this  letter  which  lay  before  her,  had 
requested  her  to  write  and  ask  Daniel  O' Flaherty — 
the  man  whom  she  had  once  loved — to  come  and 
spend  a  few  days  at  Fletchings.  They  had  met  many 
times  since  that  decisive  interview  in  Kensington 
Gardens  which  had  been  so  strangely  interrupted  by 


BARBARA   REBELL.  145 

Oliver  Boringdon — for  such  meetings  are  the  unforeseen 
penalties  attendant  on  such  conduct  as  had  been  that 
of  Arabella — but  both  had  hitherto  contrived  to  avoid 
staying  under  the  same  roof.  Now,  however,  she  felt 
she  could  no  longer  put  off  giving  this  invitation,  the 
more  so  that  it  was  for  her  brother's  sake  that  Lord 
Bosworth  wished  O'Flaherty  to  be  asked  to  Fletchings. 

Miss  Berwick  had  early  found  it  advisable,  when 
something  painful  had  to  be  done,  to  "  rush  her 
fences."  She  took  up  her  pen  and  wrote,  in  her  fine, 
characteristic  hand-writing,  the  words,  "  Dear  Mr. 
O'Flaherty." 

Then  she  laid  the  pen  down,  lay  back  in  her  chair, 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Even  after  so  long  a  time  had 
gone  by,  the  memory  of  what  had  passed  between 
Daniel  O'Flaherty  and  herself  was  intolerably  bitter. 
Arabella  even  now  never  thought  of  him  without  asking 
herself  how  it  happened  that  she  had  not  realised  what 
manner  of  man  he  really  was,  and  why  she  had  not 
foreseen  how  sure  he  was  to  make  his  way.  She  never 
saw  his  name  printed,  never  heard  it  uttered,  without 
this  feeling  of  shamed  surprise  and  acute  self-reproach 
coming  over  her. 

The  strong  attraction  she  had  felt  for  the  then 
untried  Irishman  had  in  a  sense  blinded  her — made 
her  distrustful  of  his  real  power.  Her  uncle,  Lord 
Bosworth,  had  been  more  clear-sighted,  in  those  far-off 
days  when  he  had  encouraged  the  unknown  barrister  to 
come  about  Bosworth  House,  just  before  she  herself  so 
ruthlessly  sent  him  away. 

And  now  she  found  the  wording,  as  well  as  the 
writing,  of  her  letter  difficult :  she  wished  to  leave  the 
matter  of  Daniel  O' Flaherty's  coming  to  Fletchings,  or 
his  staying  away,  entirely  to  his  own  sense  of  what  was 
fitting.     He  had  become,  as  she  had  reason  to  know,  a 

B.R«  {, 


146  BARBARA   REBELL. 

man  much  sought  after :  perhaps  the  dates  which  she 
was  able  to  offer  him  would  all  be  filled  up. 

There  came  a  slight  sound;  Miss  Berwick  opened 
her  eyes,  she  sat  up,  an  alert  look  on  her  face,  ready 
to  repel  the  intruder  whoever  he  might  be.  Lord 
Bosworth,  introducing  his  ample  person  through  the 
narrow  door  of  the  tiny  room,  was  struck  by  the 
look  of  age  and  fatigue  which  had  come  over  —  it 
seemed  to  him  only  since  yesterday  —  his  niece's 
delicate  clear-cut  features  and  shadowed  fairness, 
.Arabella  Berwick  had  always  been  a  good-looking 
replica  of  her  remarkable-looking  brother,  but  youth, 
which  remains  so  long  with  many  women,  had  gone 
from  her.  She  often  looked  older  than  thirty-eight, 
and  her  deep-set  compelling  bright  blue  eyes,  of  which 
the  moral  expression  was  so  different  from  that  produced 
by  those  of  James  Berwick,  gave  an  impression  of 
singular  disenchantment. 

"  Am  I  disturbing  you  ?  " — Lord  Bosworth  spoke 
very  courteously — "  if  so,  I  will  speak  to  you  some  other 
time."  Arabella  at  once  hid  the  great  surprise  she 
felt  at  seeing  him  here,  for  this  was,  as  far  as  she  could 
remember,  her  uncle's  first  visit  to  the  Powdering 
Room :  "  Oh  !  no,"  she  said,  "  I  was  only  writing  to 
Mr.  O'Flaherty.  You  would  like  him  to  come  soon, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly !  I  am  told  he  will  have  to  be 
Attorney-General.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  James  ought 
to  have  got  hold  of  long  ago.  We  seem  to  have  lost 
sight  of  him.  I  know  I  went  to  some  trouble  for  him 
years  ago — and  then  somehow  he  disappeared.  Perhaps 
it  was  my  fault — in  that  case  I  ought  to  write  him  a 
line  myself." 

Then  he  became  silent,  looking  at  his  niece  with  a 


BARBARA   REBELL.  147 

curious  persistent  gaze  which  embarrassed  her.  There 
had  never  been  any  real  intimacy  between  the  uncle  and 
niece,  and  "the  thought  that  Lord  Bosworth  had  sus- 
pected anything  concerning  what  had  occurred  between 
herself  and  O'Flaherty  would  have  been  intensely  dis- 
agreeable to  Arabella.  She  felt  herself  flushing,  but 
met  his  look  with  steady  eyes,  comforted  by  the  know- 
ledge that,  whatever  he  knew  or  suspected,  he  would 
most  certainly  say  nothing. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  that  you  guess  what  I  have  come 
to  tell  you.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Umfraville — you 
know  he  comes  to-morrow  ?  It  is  a  very  good  letter, 
a  better  letter  than  I  should  have  thought  he  could 
have  written  on  such  a  subject,  but  it  amounts  to  this : 
before  offering  himself,  he  wishes  to  be  sure  of  what 
your  answer  will  be,  and  he  wants  you  to  make  up  your 
mind  within  the  next  few  days, — in  fact  before  he  leaves 
us.  It  would  be  a  great  position,  my  dear,  and  one 
which  you  would  fill  admirably." 

As  he  spoke  the  colour  had  faded  from  Miss  Berwick's 
face.  She  felt  relieved  and  rather  touched.  "  But  what 
would  you  do  ?  "  she  said  involuntarily. 

Lord  Bosworth  made  none  of  the  answers  which 
might  have  been  expected  from  him.  He  said  no  word 
as  to  his  niece's  happiness  being  of  more  consequence 
than  his  own  comfort,  and  if  he  had  done  so,  Miss 
Berwick  would  not  have  believed  him. 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  you  are  aware," — he  put  his 
strong  hands  on  the  table  before  him,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  sudden  pleading  look  which  sat  oddly  on  his 
shrewd,  powerful  face — "  I  do  not  suppose,  Arabella, 
that  you  are  aware  that  I  made  Madame  Sampiero  an 
offer  of  marriage  some  six  or  seven  years  ago,  not 
long  after  the  death  of — of  Sampiero.  I  believe  her 
answer  was  contained  in  one  of  the  very  last  letters 

La 


148  BARBARA   REBELL. 

she  ever  wrote  with  her  own  hand.  Well,  now — in 
fact  for  a  long  time  past — I  have  been  contemplating  a 
renewal  of  that  offer.  Nay  more,  should  she  again 
refuse,  which  I  know  well  to  be  more  than  probable, 
I  cannot  see  why,  at  our  time  of  life,  especially  in 
view  of  her  present  state,  we  should  even  so  not  be 
together." 

His  niece  looked  at  him  in  frank  incredulous 
astonishment.  She  felt  mortified  to  think  how  little 
she  had  known  this  man  with  whom  she  had  lived  for 
so  long. 

"Surely,"  she  said,  "surely  you  would  find  such  an 
existence  absolutely  intolerable  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  done  that  you  should 
judge  me  so  severely." — Lord  Bosworth's  answer  was 
made  in  a  very  low  tone.  "  You  are  a  clever  woman, 
Arabella,  and  I  have  always  done  full  justice  to  your 
powers,  but,  believe  me,  there  are  certain  things  un- 
dreamt of  in  your  philosophy,  and  I  do  not  think  " — 
he  stopped  abruptly,  and  finished  the  sentence  to  him- 
self, "I  do  not  think  Umfraville  is  likely  to  bring  them 
any  nearer  to  you." 

He  got  up.  **  I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he 
said,  with  a  complete  change  of  tone,  **  because  my 
intention  may  influence  your  decision.  Otherwise,  I 
should  not  have  troubled  you  with  the  matter."  Then 
his  heart  softened  to  her  :  he  suddenly  remembered  her 
long  and  loyal,  if  loveless,  service.  "  Quite  apart  from 
any  question  of  our  immediate  future,  you  must  remem- 
ber, my  dear,  that  I'm  an  old  man.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  your  life  alone  would  be  very  dreary, 
and,  much  as  you  care  for  James,  I  cannot  see  either 
of  you  making  in  a  permanent  sense  any  kind  of  life 
with  the  other.  In  your  place — and  I  have  thought 
much  about  it — I  should  accept  Umfraville.  The  doing 


BARBARA   REBELL.  149 

so  would  enable  you  to  lead  the  same  life  that  you  have 
led  for  the  last  twenty  years,  with  certain  great  added 
advantages.  Then  Umfraville,  after  all,  is  a  very  good 
fellow, — good  yet  not  too  good,  clever  and  yet  not  too 
clever !  " 

She  smiled  at  him  an  answering  but  rather  wavering 
smile,  and  he  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him, 
leaving  her  alone  with  her  thoughts,  and  with  her 
scarcely  begun  letter  to  O' Flaherty  lying  before  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  I  beg  to  hint  to  all  Equestrian  Misses 

That  horses'  backs  are  not  their  proper  plactt  } 
A  woman's  forte  is  music — love — or  kisses, 

Not  leaping  gates,  or  galloping  a  race  ; 
I  sometimes  used  to  ride  with  them  of  yore, 
And  always  found  them  an  infernal  bore." 

Ascribed  to  LORD  Byron. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  first  meet  of  the  South 
Sussex  Hunt,  and  in  spite  of  the  humble  status  of  that 
same  hunt  among  sporting  folk,  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood was  in  an  agreeable  state  of  excitement. 

Even  in  a  country  district  where  hunting  plays  a 
subordinate  part  in  the  local  Hfe,  the  first  meet  of  the 
season  is  always  made  the  occasion  for  a  great  gather- 
ing. There  had  been  a  time  when  it  had  taken  place 
on  the  lawn  of  Chancton  Priory,  and  the  open-handed 
hospitality  of  that  Squire  Rebell  who  had  been  Madame 
Sampiero's  father  was  still  regretfully  remembered  by 
the  older  members  of  the  S.S.H. 

Nowadays  the  first  meet  was  held  at  a  place  known 
locally  as  Whiteways,  which,  though  close  to  no  hos- 
pitable house,  had  the  advantage  of  proximity  to  the 
town  of  Halnakeham,  being  situated  just  outside  the 
furthest  gate  of  the  park  stretching  behind  Halnakeham 
Castle. 

Whiteways  was  a  singularly  beautiful  and  desolate 
spot,  forming  the  apex  of  a  three-sided  hill  commanding 
an  amazing  view  of  uplands  and  lowlands,  and  reached 
by  various  steep  ways,  cut  through  the  chalk,  which 


BARBARA   REBELL.  151 

gave  the  place  its  name,  and  which  circled  ribbon-wise 
round  the  crest  of  the  down,  the  highest  of  the  long 
range  which  there  guards  the  coasts  of  Sussex. 

General  Kemp  had  taken  to  hunting  in  his  old  age, 
and  though  in  theory  he  disapproved  of  hunting  women, 
in  practice  he  often  allowed  his  daughter  many  a  happy 
hour  with  the  hounds,  although  she  had  to  be  contented 
with  the  sturdy  pony,  "warranted  safe  to  ride  and 
drive,"  a  gift  from  Captain  Laxton  to  Mrs.  Kemp. 

At  the  Grange  breakfast  was  just  over.  The  General 
looking  his  best — so  Mrs.  Kemp  assured  herself  with 
wifely  pride — in  his  white  riding  breeches  and  grey  coat, 
stood  by  the  window  of  the  pretty  room  opening  out 
on  to  the  lawn. 

"  I  think  it's  time  you  went  up  and  dressed,  Lucy. 
You  know  it's  a  good  way  to  Whiteways,  and  we  don't 
want  the  horses  blown." 

Lucy  looked  up  obediently  from  a  letter  she  was 
reading,  "  Yes,  father,  I'll  go  up  at  once.  It  won't  take 
me  long  to  dress." 

The  girl  would  have  given  much  to  have  been 
allowed  to  stay  at  home.  But  she  knew  that  her  doing 
so  would  probably  mean  the  giving  up  on  the  part  of 
her  mother  of  one  of  the  few  local  festivities  which 
Mrs.  Kemp  heartily  enjoyed.  Even  more,  Lucy  feared 
her  father's  certain  surprise  and  disappointment,  fol- 
lowed, after  the  first  expression  of  these  feelings,  by  one 
of  those  ominous  silences,  those  tender  questioning 
glances  she  had  come  to  look  for  and  to  dread. 

General  Kemp  was  treating  his  daughter  with  a  con- 
sideration and  gentleness  which  were  growing  daily 
more  bitter  to  Lucy.  The  poor  child  wondered  uneasily 
what  she  could  have  done  to  make  her  father  see  so 
clearly  into  her  heart.     She  would  have  given  much 


152  BARBARA    REBELL. 

to  hear  him  utter  one  of  his  old  sharp  jokes  at  her 
expense. 

Nothing  was  outwardly  changed  in  the  daily  life  ol 
the  village,  Chancton  had  been  rather  duller  than  usual. 
Mrs.  Rebell's  back  had  been  seen  at  church  in  the 
Priory  pew,  but  she  had  gone  out,  as  she  had  come  in, 
by  the  private  door  leading  into  the  park.  Mrs.  Boring- 
don  had  been  away  for  nearly  a  fortnight,  staying  with 
an  invalid  sister,  and  so  there  had  been  very  little 
coming  and  going  between  the  Cottage  and  the  Grange, 
although  the  Kemps  and  Oliver  had  met  more  than 
once  on  neutral  ground. 

To-day,  as  Lucy  well  knew,  was  bound  to  be  almost 
an  exact  replica  of  that  first  day  out  last  autumn.  Then, 
as  now,  it  had  been  arranged  that  Mrs.  Boringdon  should 
drive  Mrs.  Kemp  to  Whiteways ;  then,  as  now,  Lucy 
and  her  father  were  to  ride  there  together,  perhaps 
picking  up  Captain  Laxton  on  the  way.  But,  a  year 
ago,  Oliver  Boringdon  had  ridden  to  the  meet  in  their 
company,  while  this  time  nothing  had"*  been  said  as  to 
whether  he  was  even  going  to  be  there.  A  year  ago, 
the  day  had  been  one  full  of  happy  enchantment  to 
Lucy  :  for  her  father  had  allowed  her  to  follow  the  hounds 
for  over  an  hour,  with  Boringdon  as  pilot,  and  he, — or 
so  it  seemed  to  the  happy  girl, — had  had  no  eyes,  no 
thought  for  anyone  else  !  The  knowledge  that  to-day 
would  be  so  like,  and  yet,  as  a  subtle  instinct  warned 
her,  so  unlike,  was  curiously  painful. 

Still,  no  thought  of  trying  to  escape  from  the  ordeal 
entered  Lucy's  mind.  But  mothers — such  mothers  as 
Mrs.  Kemp — often  have  a  sixth  sense  placed  at  their 
disposal  by  Providence,  and  the  girl's  mother  divined 
fomething  of  what  Lucy  was  thinking  and  feeling. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  if  you  would  rather  stop  at 
home  ?    You  look  tired,  child,  and  you  know  it  is  a 


BARBARA   REBELL.  153 

long  way  to  Whiteways,  and  a  rather  tiring  experience 
altogether  !     Of  course  I  should  go  just  the  same." 

General  Kemp  turned  to  his  wife  inquiringly,  as  if 
asking  for  a  lead,  and  Lucy  intercepted  the  look  which 
passed  between  them.  "  Why,  mother,"  she  cried,  "  I 
shouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing !  I've  been 
looking  forward  to  to-day  for  ever  so  long !  I  know 
what  you  are  thinking  " — she  flushed  vividly,  "  but  I'm 
sure  Captain  Laxton  is  much  too  old  a  friend  to  bear  me 
a  grudge,  or  to  feel  any  annoyance  as  to  meeting  me. 
After  all,  he  need  not  have  come  back "  and  with- 
out giving  either  of  her  parents  time  to  answer,  she  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

General  Kemp  was  much  taken  aback.  This  was  the 
first  time  he  had  heard  Lucy  allude  to  Captain  Laxton's 
affection  for  herself,  or  to  the  offer  which  she  had 
rejected.  To  his  mind  such  an  allusion  savoured 
almost  of  indelicacy.  He  did  not  like  to  think  his 
daughter  guilty  of  over-frankness,  even  to  her  father 
and  mother. 

"Can  it  be,  Mary,"  he  said,  puzzled,  "that  she's 
thinking  of  Laxton  after  all?" 

Mrs.  Kemp  shook  her  head.  She  knew  very  well 
why  Lucy  had  mentioned  her  lover — that  his  image 
had  been  evoked  in  order  to  form  as  it  were  a  screen 
between  herself  and  what  she  had  divined  to  be  her 
mother's  motive  in  suggesting  that  she  should  stay  at 
home,  but  it  would  be  hopeless  to  try  and  indicate  such 
feminine  subtleties  to  Lucy's  father. 

In  the  country,  as  in  life,  there  are  always  many  ways 
of  reaching  the  same  place.  The  pleasantest  carriage 
road  to  Whiteways  lay  partly  through  the  Priory  park, 
and  it  was  that  which  was  chosen  by  Mrs.  Boringdon 
and  Mrs.  Kemp.     Lucy  and  her  father  preferred  a  less 


154  BARBARA  REBELL. 

frequented  and  lonelier  path,  one  which  skirted  for  part 
of  the  way  the  high  wall  of  James  Berwick's  property, 
Chillingworth, 

They  had  now  left  this  place  far  behind,  and  were 
riding  slowly  by  the  side  of  a  curving  down  :  Captain 
Laxton  had  evidently  gone  on  before,  or  deliberately 
chosen  to  linger  behind,  and  the  father  and  daughter 
were  alone.  Soon  they  left  the  road  for  the  short 
turf,  broken  here  and  there  with  hawthorn  bushes ;  and 
Lucy,  cheered  by  the  keen  upland  air,  was  making 
a  gallant  effort  to  bear  herself  as  she  had  always  done 
on  what  had  been  such  happy  hunting  days  last  winter. 
Already  she  could  see,  far  away  to  her  left,  a  broad 
shining  white  road,  dotted  with  carriages,  horsemen  and 
horsewomen,  and  groups  of  walkers  all  making  their 
way  up  towards  the  castellated  gate-way  which  frowned 
on  the  summit  of  the  hill  above  them. 

When  the  father  and  daughter  reached  the  large 
circular  space,  sheltered  on  one  side  by  two  wind-blown 
fir-trees,  they  found  that  they  were  rather  late,  and  so 
had  missed  the  pretty  sight  of  the  coming  of  the  hunts- 
man and  his  hounds  over  the  brow  of  the  down.  Lucy 
made  her  way  at  once  through  the  crowd  close  to  where 
Mrs.  Boringdon's  low  pony-carriage  was  drawn  up  just 
beneath  the  high  stone  gate-way,  next  to  that  of  Mrs. 
Sampson,  the  Chancton  rector's  wife,  who  had  weakly 
consented  to  bring  Miss  Vipen.  Even  Doctor  McKirdy 
had  vouchsafed  to  grace  the  pretty  scene,  and  he  was 
sitting  straightly  and  lankily  on  the  rough  old  pony 
he  always  rode,  which  now  turned  surprised  and  patient 
eyes  this  way  and  that,  for  the  doctor  had  never  before 
attended  a  meet  of  the  S.S.H. 

As  yet  Lucy  could  see  nothing  of  Captain  Laxton  or 
of  Boringdon,  and  she  felt  at  once  relieved  and  dis- 
appointed.    Perhaps  Oliver  was  too  busy  to  give  up 


BARBARA   REBELL.  155 

a  whole  day  to  this  kind  of  thing,  and  yet  she  knew 
he  always  enjoyed  a  day  with  the  hounds,  and  that 
he  had  theories  concerning  the  value  of  sport  in  such  a 
neighbourhood  as  this.  She  reminded  herself  that  if  h  j 
had  not  been  really  very  busy,  more  so  than  usual,  he 
would  certainly  have  found  time  to  come  to  the  Grange 
during  his  mother's  absence  from  Chancton. 

As  these  thoughts  were  coming  and  going  through 
her  mind  in  between  the  many  greetings,  the  exchange 
of  heavy  banter  such  an  occasion  always  seems  to  pro- 
voke, she  suddenly  heard  Boringdon's  voice,  and  realised 
that  he  was  trying  to  attract  her  attention.  Lucy's 
pony,  feehng  the  agitation  his  young  mistress  was  quite 
successfully  concealing  from  the  people  around  her, 
began  to  quiver  and  gave  a  sudden  half-leap  in  the  air. 

"What  has  come  over  sober  Robin?" — Boringdon 
was  smiling ;  he  looked  in  a  good-tempered,  happy 
mood — "  I  did  so  hope  you  would  be  here  !  I  looked 
out  for  you  on  the  road  for  I  wanted  to  introduce " 

There  was  a  sudden  babel  of  voices ;  an  old  gentleman 
and  his  two  talkative  daughters,  all  three  on  foot,  were 
actually  pulling  Lucy's  habit  to  make  her  attend  to  what 
they  were  saying.  Oliver  shook  his  head,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  to  Lucy's  bitter,  at  the  moment  almost 
intolerable  disappointment,  turned  his  horse  through 
the  crowd  towards  the  fir-trees  close  to  which  were 
drawn  up  several  carriages,  including  the  Fletchings 
phaeton,  driven,  so  the  girl  observed,  by  Miss  Berwick, 
by  whose  side  an  elderly  man  was  looking  about  him 
with  amused  indulgent  eyes. 

Still,  the  day  was  turning  out  pretty  well.  Oliver 
would  surely  come  back  soon, — doubtless  with  whoever 
it  was  he  wished  to  introduce  to  her.  It  was  always  a 
great  pleasure  to  Lucy  to  meet  any  of  Boringdon's  old 
political    acquaintances.     Such    men    were  often  at 


136  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Fletchings.  Of  course  Lucy  Kemp  knew  Miss 
Berwick,  but  by  no  means  well, — besides,  an  instinct 
had  told  her  long  ago  that  Oliver  had  no  liking  for 
his  friend's  sister. 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Lucy  saw  that  Oliver  was 
riding  towards  her,  and  that  he  was  accompanied  by  a 
lady,  doubtless  one  of  the  Fletchings  party,  for  she  was 
mounted  on  a  fine  hunter,  a  certain  Saucebox,  locally 
famous,  which  belonged  to  James  Berwick,  and  which 
was  often  ridden  by  his  sister. 

The  unknown  horsewoman  was  habited,  booted,  and 
hatted,  in  a  far  more  cap-a-pie  manner  than  was  usual 
with  the  fair  followers  of  the  South  Sussex  Hunt,  and 
she  and  her  mount  together,  made,  from  the  sportsman's 
point  of  view,  a  very  perfect  and  pretty  picture,  though 
she  was  too  pale,  too  slight,  perhaps  a  thought  too 
serious,  to  be  considered  pretty  in  the  ordinary  sense. 

Still,  both  horse  and  rider  were  being  looked  at 
by  many  with  eyes  that  were  at  first  critical  but  soon 
became  undisguisedly  admiring,  and  the  Master,  old 
Squire  Laxton,  was  noticed  to  cut  short  a  confidential 
conversation  with  the  huntsman  in  order  to  give  the 
stranger  an  elaborate  salutation. 

Even  Mrs.  Kemp  felt  a  slight  touch  of  curiosity. 
"Who  is  that  with  whom  your  son  is  riding?"  she 
inquired  of  Mrs.  Boringdon. 

"  I  don't  know — perhaps  one  of  the  Halnakeham  party. 
The  Duke  always  makes  a  point  of  being  here  to-day." 

Mrs.  Boringdon's  eyes  rested  appreciatively  on  the 
group  formed  by  her  son  and  the  unknown  horsewoman  ; 
they  took  in  every  detail  of  the  severely  plain  black 
habit,  the  stiff  collar,  neat  tie,  and  top  hat.  Oliver 
seemed  to  be  on  very  good  terms  with  his  companion — 
doubtless  she  was  one  of  his  old  London  acquaintances. 
What  a  pity,  thought  Mrs.  Boringdon  with  genuine 


BARBARA   REBELL.  157 

regret,  that  he  saw  so  few  of  that  sort  of  people  now — 
prosperous,  well-dressed,  well-bred  women  of  the  world, 
who  can  be  so  useful  to  the  young  men  they  like  ! 

Lucy,  also  becoming  conscious  of  the  nearness  of 
Oliver  and  his  companion,  looked  at  the  well-appointed 
horsewoman  with  less  kindly  eyes  than  the  two  older 
ladies  sitting  in  the  pony  carriage  had  done.  The  girl 
told  herself  that  such  perfection  of  attire,  worn  at  such 
a  meet  as  this  of  Whiteways,  was  almost  an  affectation 
on  the  part  of  the  lady  towards  whom  Oliver  was  bend- 
ing with  so  pleased  and  absorbed  a  glance.  A  moment 
later  the  two  had  ridden  up  close  to  her,  and  Boringdon 

was    saying,    "  Miss  Kemp Mrs.  Rebell,  may  I 

introduce  to  you  Miss  Lucy  Kemp  ?  " 

Barbara's  eyes  rested  very  kindly  on  the  girl.  She 
remembered  what  Doctor  McKirdy  had  told  her,  during 
that  walk  that  he  and  she  had  taken  together  on  the 
downs  on  the  morning  of  her  first  day  at  Chancton. 
It  was  nice  of  Oliver  Boringdon  to  have  brought  her 
up  at  once,  like  this,  to  the  young  lady  whom  he 
admired,  but  who  was  not, — so  Barbara  thought  she 
remembered  McKirdy  saying, — as  yet  his  fiancee. 

Mrs.  Rebell  had  lately  seen  a  great  deal  of  Grace 
Johnstone's  brother,  in  fact  he  was  constantly  at  the 
Priory  and  always  very  much  at  her  service  ;  they  had 
become  quite  good  friends,  and  since  she  had  "  made  it 
up  "  with  the  old  doctor,  she  had  taken  pains  to^show 
both  him  and  Madame  Sampiero  that  Oliver  Boringdon 
had  a  right  to  more  consideration  than  they  seemed 
willing  to  give  him. 

Then  Lucy's  steady  gaze  rather  disconcerted  her; 
she  became  aware  of  the  girl's  scanty  riding  habit — 
General  Kemp's  favourite  form  of  safety  skirt — of  the 
loose  well-worn  covert  coat,  and  the  small  bowler  hat 
resting  on  her  bright  brown  hair. 


158  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  I  feel  rather  absurdly  dressed  " — Lucy  was  struck 
by  Barbara's  soft  full  voice — "but  my  god-mother, 
Madame  Sampiero,  ordained  that  I  should  look  like 
this.     My  last  riding  habit  was  made  of  khaki !  " 

The  note  of  appeal  in  Mrs.  Rebell's  accent  touched 
Lucy  at  once.  "  Why,  of  course  you  look  absolutely 
right !  My  father  often  says  what  a  pity  it  is  that  so 
many  women  have  given  up  wearing  plain  habits  and 
top  hats,"  Lucy  spoke  with  pretty  sincere  eagerness — 

"She  is  a  really  nice  girl,"  decided  Barbara  to  her- 
self;  and  Oliver  also  looked  at  his  old  friend  Lucy  very 
cordially.  To  his  mind  both  young  women  looked 
exactly  right,  that  is,  exactly  as  he  liked  each  of  them 
to  look — Lucy  Kemp  perhaps  standing  for  the  good 
serviceable  homespuns  of  life,  Barbara  Rebell  for  those 
more  exquisite,  more  thrilling  moments  with  which  he 
had,  as  yet  unconsciously,  come  to  associate  her. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  a  little  quickly,  "  this  is  Mrs. 
Rebell's  first  experience  of  hunting,  though  she  has 
ridden  a  great  deal, — in  fact,  all  her  life.  Otherwise 
Madame  Sampiero  would  hardly  have  suggested  send- 
ing over  to  Chillingworth  for  Saucebox.  Hullo, 
Laxton !  " — his  voice  became  perceptibly  colder,  but 
Lucy  noticed  with  some  surprise  that  Mrs.  Rebell  bowed 
and  smiled  at  the  newcomer,  but  Boringdon  gave  her 
no  time  to  speak  to  him — "  You  had  better  come  over 
here,"  he  said  urgently,  "  we  shall  be  getting  to  work 
soon,"  and  in  a  moment,  or  so  it  seemed  to  Lucy,  he 
and  the  lady  whom  she  knew  now  to  be  ISIrs.  Rebell 
had  become  merged  in  the  crowd,  leaving  Captain 
Laxton  by  her  side  looking  down  on  her  with  the  half 
bold,  half  fearful  look  she  knew  so  well. 

Boringdon  had  taken  Barbara  to  the  further  side  of 
the  great  stone  gateway,  and  she  was  enjoying  every 


BARBARA  REBELL.  159 

moment  of  the  time  which  seemed  to  many  of  those 
about  her  so  tedious.  She  was  even  amused  at  listen- 
ing to  the  quaint  talk  going  on  round  her.  '*  Scent 
going  to  be  good  to-day?"  "Well,  they  say  there's 
always  a  scent  some  time  of  the  day,  and  if  you  can 
find  the  fox  then,  why  you're  all  right !  " — and  the  boast- 
ful tone  of  a  keen  weather-beaten  elderly  man,  "  I 
never  want  a  warranty, — why  should  a  man  expect  to 
find  a  perfect  horse  ? — he  don't  look  for  perfection  when 
he's  seeking  a  wife,  eh  ?  "  "  Oh  !  but  there's  two 
wanted  to  complete  that  deal.  The  old  lady  'as  not 
come  up  to  the  scratch  yet,  'as  she,  John  ?  "  "Well, 
when  she  does,  I  shan't  ask  for  any  warranty,  and  I 
bet  you  I'll  not  come  out  any  worse  than  other  folk 
do  ! " — and  then  the  old  joke,  one  of  Solomon's  wise 
sayings,  uttered  by  an  old  gentleman  to  a  nervous  girl, 
"  Their  strength  shall  be  in  sitting  still !  " 

Mrs.  Rebell  looked  straight  before  her.  Of  all  the 
cheerful  folk  gathered  together  near  her,  none  seemed 
to  have  eyes  for  the  beauty,  the  amazing  beauty  of  the 
surrounding  country.  To  the  right  of  the  kind  of 
platform  upon  which  the  field  was  now  gathered 
together,  the  hill  dropped  abruptly  into  a  dark  wood,  a 
corner  of  the  ancient  forest  of  Anderida,  that  crossed 
by  Caesar  when  he  came  from  Gaul — a  forest  stretching 
from  end  to  end  of  the  South  Downs,  broken  by  swift 
rivers  running  down  to  the  sea.  It  was  here — but 
Barbara,  gazing  with  delighted  eyes  down  over  the  tree- 
tops,  did  not  know  this — it  was  here,  in  this  patch  of 
primeval  woodland,  that  the  first  fox  of  the  season  was 
always  sought  for  and  often  found. 

Yet  another  "  white  way  "  wound  down  towards  the 
red-roofed  farmhouses  which  lined  the  banks  of  the 
tidal  stream  glistening  in  the  vale  below ;  and  opposite, 
in  front,  a  gleaming  cart-track  led  up  to  a  strip  of  fine 


i6o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

short  grass,  differing  in  quality  and  even  in  colour  from 
the  turf  about  it,  and  marking  the  place  where,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  Boadicea  made  her  last  stand.  From 
thence,  by  climbing  up  the  low  bank  on  which  a  hedge 
was  now  set,  the  lover  of  the  downs  looked  upon  one 
of  the  grandest  views  in  the  South  of  England — that 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  sea,  on  the  other,  beyond 
the  unrolled  map-like  plain,  by  the  long  blue  barrier  of 
the  Surrey  hills. 

Barbara's  eyes  dilated  with  pleasure.  The  fresh 
autumn  wind  brought  a  faint  colour  to  her  cheeks.  She 
felt  a  kind  of  rapture  at  the  beauty  of  the  sight  before 
her.  It  was  amazing  to  her  that  these  people  could  be 
talking  so  eagerly  to  one  another,  gazing  so  critically 
at  the  huntsman  and  at  the  hounds  gathered  on  their 
haunches,  while  this  marvellous  sight  lay  spread  out 
around  and  before  them. 

Mrs.  Kemp,  sitting  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Boringdon  in 
the  pony-carriage,  had  something  of  the  same  feeling. 
She  turned  —  foolishly,  as  she  somewhat  ruefully 
admitted  to  herself  a  moment  later — to  her  companion 
and  contemporary  for  sympathy — "  I  never  saw  White- 
ways  looking  so  beautiful  as  it  does  to-day !  " 

Mrs.  Boringdon  looked  deliberately  away  from  the 
sight  which  lay  before  her,  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  sham  Norman  gateway.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "very 
pretty  indeed  !  Such  a  charming  background  to  the 
men's  red  coats  and  to  the  dogs  !  Still,  I  wonder  the 
Duke  allows  so  many  poor  and  dirty  people  to  come 
streaming  through  the  park.  It  rather  spoils  the  look 
of  the  meet,  doesn't  it  ?  If  I  were  he,  I  should 
close  the  gates  on  this  one  day  of  the  year  at  any 
rate." 

Mrs.  Kemp  made  no  answer,  but  she  bethought  her- 
self it  was  surely  impossible  that  Lucy  should  be  happy, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  i6i 

in   any  permanent   sense,   if  made   to    live  in    close 
proximity  to  Oliver  Boringdon's  mother. 

Time  was  going  on.  The  walkers  and  those  who 
had  driven  to  Whiteways  were  asking  one  another 
uneasily  what  the  Master  was  waiting  for.  Miss  Vipen, 
sitting  bolt  upright  by  Mrs.  Sampson's  side,  addressing 
now  and  again  a  sharp  word  of  reproof  to  the  two  young 
Sampsons  sitting  opposite  to  her,  alone  divined  the 
cause  of  the  delay.  The  Master  of  the  South  Sussex 
Hunt,  that  is,  Tom  Laxton — she  had  known  him  all 
her  life,  and  even  as  a  boy  he  had  been  afraid  of  her — 
was,  of  course,  waiting  for  the  Duke,  for  the  Duke  and 
the  Halnakeham  party  I  It  was  too  bad  to  keep  the 
whole  field  waiting  like  this,  and  probably  the  fault  of  the 
Duchess,  who  was  always  late  at  all  local  functions.  Miss 
Vipen  told  Mrs.  Sampson  her  opinion  of  the  Duke,  of 
the  Duchess,  and  last  but  not  least  of  the  Master,  whose 
subserviences  to  the  great  she  thoroughly  despised. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  stir  round  the  gate-way :  **  The 
Duke  at  last !  "  looking  for  all  the  world,  so  Miss  Vipen 
observed  to  Mrs.  Sampson,  like  an  old  fat  farmer,  and 
apparently  quite  pleased  at  having  kept  everybody 
waiting.  As  for  Lord  Pendragon,  he  was  evidently 
very  much  the  fine  gentleman — or,  stay,  the  weedy 
scholar  from  Oxford  who  despised  the  humble  sports  of 
a  dull  neighbourhood.  But  the  time  would  come — Miss 
Vipen  nodded  her  head  triumphantly — when  he,  Lord 
Pendragon,  would  become  very  fat,  like  his  mother, 
who,  it  was  well  known,  was  now  too  stout  to  ride. 
*'  They  say,"  whispered  Miss  Vipen  in  Mrs.  Sampson's 
unwilling  ear,  "  that  he  is  in  love  with  a  clergyman's 
daughter,  and  that  the  Duke  won't  hear  of  it !  If  they 
made  her  father  a  Bishop,  I  suppose  it  would  be  less 
objectionable —     Ah !    there's    the    Duchess.      They 

B.R.  M 


i62  BARBARA   REBELL. 

say  her  carriages  are  always  built  just  about  a  foot 
broader  than  anybody  else's  in  order  that  her  size  may 
not  show  so  much." 

A  move  w^as  now  made  for  Whitecombe  wood,  and  the 
Master  trotted  down  towards  a  point  from  which  on 
many  a  former  occasion  he  had  viewed  a  fox  break 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  open  down,  and  had  been 
able  to  get  a  good  start  before  he  could  be  overtaken 
by  what  he  used  to  call  "  all  these  confounded  holiday 
jostlers." 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Captain  Laxton  had  not 
stirred  from  Lucy's  side,  and  together  they  rode  over 
up  towards  Boadicea's  camp.  "  If  they  find  soon, 
which  I  think  very  doubtful,"  he  said  quietly,  "  and  if, 
what  is  even  less  likely,  the  fox  breaks,  he  is  sure  to 
head  this  way" — he  pointed  to  the  left — **  because  of 
the  wind." 

Lucy  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  respect :  she 
herself  would  never  have  thought  of  that !  Captain 
Laxton,  in  the  past,  had  often  surprised  her  by  his  odd 
little  bits  of  knowledge.  She  suddenly  felt  glad  that  he 
was  there,  and  that  apparently  he  bore  her  no  grudge. 
More,  she  reminded  herself  that  during  the  whole  of  the 
past  summer  she  had  missed  his  good-natured  presence 
— that  they  had  all  missed  him,  her  mother  even  more 
than  herself.  If  he  had  not  come  to  Whiteways  to-day, 
she  would  now  be  by  herself,  down  among  those  foolish 
people  who  were  riding  quickly  and  aimlessly  up  and 
down  the  steep  roads  near  the  wood,  her  father 
throwing  her  a  word  now  and  then  no  doubt,  but 
Oliver  giving  her  neither  look,  word,  nor  thought. 

Lucy  had  become  av/are  that  Boringdon  and  Mrs. 
Rebell  had  chosen,  as  she  and  Laxton  had  done,  a 
point  of  vantage  away  from  the  rest  of  the  field,  and 
that  Oliver,  with  eager  glowing  face,  was  explaining 


BARBARA   REBELL.  163 

the  whole  theory  of  hunting  to  his  companion — further, 
that  she  was  hanging  on  his  words  with  great  interest. 

Meanwhile,  Captain  Laxton  was  looking  at  Lucy 
Kemp  no  less  ardently  than  Boringdon  was  gazing  at 
Barbara  Rebell.  The  young  man  had  come  out  to-day 
with  the  definite  intention  of  saying  something  to 
the  girl,  and  now  he  wished  to  get  this  something 
said  and  over  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  I  hope  that  what  happened  last  time  I  saw  you 
won't  make  any  difference,  Lucy — I  mean  as  to  our 
being  friends,  and  my  coming  to  the  Grange  ?  " 

He  had  always  called  her  Lucy — always,  that  is, 
since  her  parents  had  come  home  from  India  when 
she  was  twelve  years  old.  Now  it  is  difficult,  or  so  at 
least  thought  Lucy  Kemp,  to  cherish  any  thought  of 
romance  in  connection  with  a  man  who  has  called  you 
by  your  Christian  name  ever  since  you  were  a  little 
girl! 

She  hesitated.  To  her  mind  what  had  happened 
when  they  had  last  met  ought  to  make  a  difference. 
She  remembered  how  wretched  his  evident  disappoint- 
ment and  unhappiness  had  made  her  at  the  time,  and  how 
kindly,  since  that  time,  had  been  her  thoughts  of  him, 
how  pained  her  father  and  mother  had  been.  And  now  ? 
Even  after  so  short  a  time  as  three  months,  here  he 
was,  looking  as  cheerful  and  as  good-tempered  as  ever  ! 
It  was  clear  he  had  not  cared  as  much  as  she  had 
thought,  and  yet,  according  to  her  mother,  he  had 
wanted  to  speak  to  her  nearly  two  years  ago,  and  had 
been  asked  to  bide  his  time.  It  was  the  knowledge  of 
this  constancy  on  his  part  which  had  made  Lucy  very 
tender  to  him  in  her  thoughts. 

Laxton  misunderstood  her  silence :  "  You  need  not 
be  afraid,  Lucy,  that — that  I  will  bother  you  again  in 
the  same  way.     But  honestly,  you  don't  know  how  I 

M  2 


i64  BARBARA   REBELL. 

have   missed  you   all,   how   awfully  lonely    I've    felt 
sometimes." 

Lucy  became  aware  that  he  was  looking  at  her  with 
a  troubled,  insistent  face,  and  she  suddenly  remembered 
how  much  he  used  to  be  with  them,  making  the  Grange 
his  home  when  she  was  still  a  very  young  girl,  though 
he  was  more  than  welcome  at  another  house  in  the 
neighbourhood.  As  for  old  Squire  Laxton,  Lucy  knew 
only  too  well  why  he  now  always  looked  at  her  so 
disagreeably ;  the  coming  and  going  of  this  young 
soldier  cousin  to  Laxgrove  had  been  the  old  sporting 
bachelor's  great  pleasure,  apart  of  course  from  hunting, 
and  he  had  missed  him  sorely  that  summer. 

Why  should  not  everything  go  on  as  it  had  done 
before,  if  Captain  Laxton  really  wished  it  to  do  so  ? 
And  so  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Of  course  we  have 
missed  you  too,  all  of  us,  very  much." 

"  Oh  !  well  then,  that's  all  right !  I  will  come  over 
to  the  Grange  to-morrow — I  suppose  you  would  all  be 
tired  out  this  evening  ?  I've  been  at  Laxgrove  nearly 
a  week  already,  and  I  must  be  back  at  Canterbury  on 

Monday,  worse  luck!     I  say,  Lucy " 

"  Yes  ?  "  Lucy  smiled  up  at  him  quite  brightly,  but 
her  mind  was  absorbed  in  the  scene  below  her :  the 
Duke,  the  great  potentate  of  the  neighbourhood,  had 
come  up  to  Mrs.  Rebell — she  was  now  following  him 
towards  the  victoria  in  which  sat  the  ample  Duchess, 
and  Boringdon  had  ridden  off,  galloping  his  mare  down 
the  steep  rough  road  where  the  Master,  with  anxious 
eyes,  was  watching  the  hounds  slipping  in  and  out  of 
the  wood.  Lucy  was  rather  puzzled.  How  was  it 
that  this  strange  lady,  who  had  only  arrived  at  the 
Priory  some  three  weeks  ago,  and  who  never  came  into 
the  village — she  had  been  out  driving  when  Mrs. 
Boringdon  had  called  on  her — knew  everybody  ?     She 


BARBARA   REBELL.  165 

said  suddenly,  "  I  did  not  know  that  you  knew  Mrs. 
Rebell :  we  have  none  of  us  seen  her  excepting  in 
church." 

"  I  can't  say  I  know  her,  but  old  Cousin  Tom  has 
made  great  friends  with  her.  You  know  she's  been 
riding  Saucebox  every  morning,  and  they,  she  and 
Boringdon,  always  go  past  Laxgrove  about  twelve 
o'clock.  The  first  morning  there  was  quite  a  scene. 
The  mare  didn't  quite  understand  Mrs.  Rebell,  I 
suppose,  for  a  steam  roller  came  up,  and  in  a  minute 
she  was  all  over  the  place.  Mrs.  Rebell  sat  tight,  but 
it  gave  her  rather  a  turn,  and  Tom  made  her  come 
into  the  house.  Then  yesterday — you  know  what  a 
down-pour  there  was — well,  she  and  Boringdon  came 
in  again.  I  was  rather  glad  to  see  them,  for  he 
and  Tom  have  had  rather  an  unpleasantness  over 
the  Laxgrove  shooting.  However,  now,  thanks  to 
this  Mrs.  Rebell,  they've  quite  made  it  up.  She's  a 
nice-looking  woman,  isn't  she  ? — quite  the  kind  of 
figure  for  a  showy  beast  like  Saucebox !  " 

But  Lucy  made  no  answer  :  could  it  be,  so  thought 
Laxton  uneasily,  that  she  did  not  like  to  hear  another 
woman  praised  ?  To  some  girls,  the  young  man  would 
never  have  said  anything  complimentary  concerning 
another  lady,  but  Lucy  Kemp  was  different ;  that  was 
the  delightful  thing  about  Lucy, — both  about  the  girl 
and  her  mother. 

Old  Tom,  sitting  over  the  smoking-room  fire  the 
evening  before,  had  told  his  young  kinsman  to  give  up 
all  thought  of  Lucy  Kemp.  "  Whoever  you  marry 
now,  it  will  be  all  the  same  about  ten  years  hence !  " 
so  the  cynical  bachelor  had  observed,  but  then,  what 
did  Tom  Laxton  know  about  it  ?  The  younger  man 
was  well  aware,  in  a  general  sense,  that  this  was  true 
of  many  men  and  their  wives.     It  would  probably  be 


i66  BARBARA   REBELL. 

true  of  him  were  he  to  choose,  and  to  be  chosen,  from 
among  the  group  of  pleasant  girls  with  whom  he  had 
flirted,  danced,  and  played  games  during  the  last  few 
months.  But  with  Lucy,  ah !  no, — Lucy  Kemp  had 
become  a  part  of  his  life,  and  he  could  not  imagine 
existence  without  her  somewhere  in  the  background. 
Of  course,  to  his  old  cousin,  to  Tom  Laxton,  Miss  Kemp 
was  simply  a  quiet  rather  dull  girl  who  could  not  even 
ride  really  well — ride  as  women  ought  to  ride  if  they 
hunted  at  all.  The  old  sportsman  had  only  two 
feminine  ideals, — that  of  the  loud,  jolly,  hail-fellow- 
well-met  sort  of  girl,  or  else  the  stand-offish,  delicate,' 
high-bred  sort  of  woman,  like  this  Mrs.  Rebell. 

Lucy  was  looking  straight  before  her,  seeing  nothing, 
thinking  much.  Oliver's  absence  from  the  Grange  was 
now  explained :  he  had  been  riding  every  morning 
with  Mrs.  Rebell,  putting  off  the  dull  hours  which  he 
had  to  spend  in  the  estate  office  till  the  afternoons. 
The  girl  thought  it  quite  reasonable  that  Boringdon 
should  ride  with  Madame  Sampiero's  guest,  in  fact, 
that  sort  of  thing  was  one  of  those  nondescript  duties 
of  which  he  had  sometimes  complained  to  her  as 
having  been  more  than  he  had  bargained  for.  But  how 
strange  that  he  had  not  asked  her,  Lucy  Kemp,  to 
come  too  !  When  a  certain  girl  cousin  of  Oliver's  was 
at  the  Cottage,  the  three  young  people  often  enjoyed 
delightful  riding  expeditions, — in  fact,  that  was  how 
Lucy  had  first  come  to  know  Oliver  so  well. 
"  They've  found  at  last !  This  way,  Lucy  ! — " 
Lucy  woke  up  as  if  from  a  dream.  The  sharp 
unmistakable  cry  of  Bluebell,  one  of  the  oldest  hounds 
in  the  pack,  broke  on  her  ears.  She  and  Laxton 
galloped  down  to  the  left— then  waited — Laxton 
smiling  broadly  as  the  whole  field  swept  past  them  just 
below,  the  men  jostling  one  another  in  their  eagerness 


BARBARA   REBELL.  167 

to  get  first  to  a  gate  giving  access  to  a  large  meadow 
which  enclosed  a  stretch  of  down. 

Rather  on  one  side  Lucy  saw  Mrs.  Rebel]  and 
Boringdon,  and  Oliver — quiet,  prudent  Oliver — ^was 
actually  giving  Saucebox  a  lead  over  a  low  hedge  !  A 
group  of  town-folk  from  Halnakeham  clapped  their 
hands  on  seeing  the  lady  clear  the  obstacle.  Laxton 
laughed.  "  Miss  Vipen  would  talk  about  circus  per- 
formances, eh  !  Lucy  ?  "  He  had  never  liked  Boring- 
don, the  two  men  had  nothing  in  common.  "  But, 
of  course,  Mrs.  Rebell  may  have  told  him  she  wanted 
to  jump.  They  were  doing  that  sort  of  thing  yesterday 
down  at  Laxgrove,  and  I  must  say  I  thought  it  very 
sensible  of  Boringdon." 

But  in  point  of  fact  the  hounds  had  not  found.  They 
had  struck  a  strong  drag  in  the  lower  end  of  the  cover, 
but,  after  running  for  only  thirty  or  forty  yards,  scent 
had  quickly  failed,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  the 
majority  of  the  field  had  reappeared  near  the  old  gate 
on  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

"  Well,  it's  not  been  much  use  so  far,  has  it  ?  I  see 
that  Mrs.  Boringdon  and  your  mother  have  gone 
home  " — General  Kemp  seemed  in  high  good  humour. 
"  And  now  that  the  Duchess  is  off,  too,  we  shall  be 
able  to  try  the  Bramber  wood."  The  speaker's 
eyes  twinkled ;  the  Duchess  of  Appleby  and  Kendal 
had  been  a  keen  sportswoman  in  her  day,  and  it  had 
been  hoped  that  the  hounds  would  find  in  the  ducal 
covers.  *'  Would  you  like  to  go  on,  child  ?  "  He 
thought  Lucy  had  been  quite  long  enough  with  Laxton 
— that  is,  if,  as  his  wife  assured  him,  she  had  not 
changed  her  mind  about  the  young  man  whom  he 
himself  liked  so  cordially. 

**  I  think,  father,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  rather  go 


i68  BARBARA   REBELL. 

home."  The  General's  face  fell — it  seemed  such  a 
pity  to  turn  back  now,  just  when  the  real  work  of  the 
day  was  to  begin.  He  had  heard  the  Master's  dry 
words : — "  The  Duchess  is  gone,  isn't  she  ?  Then  let's 
make  for  Highcombe  without  losing  a  minute."  But 
Laxton  was  interposing  eagerly — "  May  I  take  Lucy 
home,  sir  ?  I  will  look  after  her  all  right,  and  perhaps 
Mrs.  Kemp  will  give  me  a  little  lunch." 

The  General  looked  doubtfully  at  the  two  young 
people.  They  had  remained  close  to  one  another 
during  the  last  hour — what  did  it  all  mean?  He 
wished  his  wife  were  there  to  give  him  a  word,  a 
glance,  of  advice. 

"  All  right !  "  he  said,  "  but  in  that  case,  I  should 
advise  you  to  go  back  over  the  downs.  It's  a  pleasanter 
way,  and  you'll  be  at  Chancton  twice  as  quickly." 

Lucy  looked  gratefully  at  the  young  man :  it  was 
really  nice  of  him  to  do  this — to  give  up  his  afternoon 
to  her,  and  to  brave,  as  he  was  certainly  about  to  do, 
old  Squire  Laxton's  anger  :  the  Master  of  the  S.S.H. 
had  never  understood  his  favourite  kinsman's  attitude 
to  the  noblest  sport  ever  devised  by  man.  And  so  she 
assented  eagerly  to  the  proposal  that  they  should  ride 
back  over  the  downs. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  rather  stay  ?  " 

"  I'm  really  glad  of  the  excuse  to  get  away  !  " — he 
smiled  down  on  her — "  I've  been  simply  longing  to 
see  your  mother  !  " 

Slowly  they  made  their  way  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  and  then  down  the  wide  grassy  slopes  skirting  the 
high  wall  which  shut  off  Chillingworth  from  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

Lucy  was  very  subdued,  and  very  gentle.  It  was  ai 
relief  to  be  with  someone  who  did  not  suspect,  as  her 
parents  seemed  to  do,  the  truth  as  to  her  feeling  for 


BARBARA   REBELL.  169 

Oliver  Boringdon.  Soon  she  and  her  companion  were 
talking  quite  happily  together,  he  asking  her  about  all 
sorts  of  familiar  matters.  Again  she  bethought  herself 
that  she  really  had  missed  him,  and  that  it  was  nice  to 
have  him  back  again. 

Then  there  was  a  pause — Laxton  had  felt  the  kind- 
ness, the  confidence  of  her  manner.  Suddenly  bending 
down,  he  saw  that  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes — that  her 
lips  were  trembling.  Could  it  be — ?  Oh  !  God,  was 
it  possible  that  she  relented — that  his  intense  feeling 
had  at  last  roused  an  answering  chord  ?  A  flood  of 
deep  colour  swept  over  his  fair  sunburnt  face.  "  Lucy ! " 
he  said  hoarsely,  "  Lucy  !  "  She  looked  up  at  him  with 
sudden  mute  appeal,  but  alas  !  he  misunderstood  the 
meaning  of  the  look.  "If  it  is  ever  any  good — any 
good  now,  my  asking  you  again,  you  will  let  me  know 
— you  will  be  kind  ?  "  Poor,  inadequate  words,  so  he 
felt  them  to  be,  but  enough,  more  than  enough,  if  he 
had  interpreted  aright  the  look  he  had  surprised. 

But  Lucy  shook  her  head,  "It  is  no  good,  I  only 
wish  it  were — though  I  don't  know  why  you  should 
care  so  much." 

They  rode  on  into  the  village,  and  Laxton  showed 
the  good  stuff  he  was  made  of  by  coming,  as  he  had 
said  he  would,  to  the  Grange,  where  Mrs.  Kemp,  after 
glancing  at  Lucy,  entertained  him  with  a  pitying  and 
heavy  heart. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  Falling  in  love  is  the  one  illogical  adventure,  the  one  thing  of 
which  we  are  tempted  to  think  as  supernatural,  in  our  trite  and 
reasonable  world." 

R.  L.  S. 

Love  has  been  described,  by  one  who  had  a 
singularly  intuitive  knowledge  of  men's  hearts,  as  a 
vital  malady,  and  in  one  essential  matter  the  similitude 
holds  good — namely,  in  the  amazing  suddenness  with 
which  the  divine  fever  will  sometimes,  nay  often,  seize 
upon  its  victim,  driving  out  for  the  time  being  all 
other  and  allied  ills,  leaving  room  only  for  the  one 
all-consuming  passion. 

James  Berwick  was  one  of  those  men — more  rarely 
found  perhaps  in  England  than  on  the  Continent,  and 
less  often  now  than  in  the  leisurely  days  of  the  past — 
who  can  tell  themselves  that  they  are  pastmasters  in 
the  art  of  love.  Two  things  in  life  were  to  him  of 
absorbing  interest — politics  and  women,  and  he  found, 
as  have  done  so  many  of  his  fellows,  that  the  two  were 
seldom  in  material  conflict.  His  sister.  Miss  Berwick, 
did  not  agree  in  this  finding,  but  she  kept  her  views  and 
her  occasional  misgivings  to  herself. 

Women  had  always  played  a  great  part  in  James 
Berwick's  life,  and  that,  as  is  generally  true  of  the 
typical  lover,  in  a  very  wide  sense,  as  often  as  not 
"en  tout  bien  tout  honneur."  He  thought  no  hour 
wasted  which  was  spent  in  feminine  company  :  he  was 
tender  to  the  pruderies,  submissive  to  the  caprices,  and 


BARBARA   REBELL.  171 

very  grateful  for  the  affection  often  lavished  on  him  by 
good  and  kindly  women,  to  whom  the  thought  of  any 
closer  tie  than  that  of  friendship  would  have  been  an 
outrage. 

More  than  once  he  had  been  very  near,  or  so  he  had 
thought  at  the  time,  to  the  finding  of  his  secret  ideal, — 
of  that  woman  who  should  be  at  once  lover  and  friend. 
But  some  element,  generally  that  of  the  selfless  tender- 
ness for  which  his  heart  craved,  was  lacking  in  the 
unlawful  loves  to  which  he  considered  himself  compelled 
to  confine  his  quest. 

He  based  his  ideal  on  the  tie  which  had  bound  his 
uncle.  Lord  Bosworth,  to  Madame  Sampiero,  and  of 
which  he  had  become  aware  at  a  moment  when  his 
youth  had  made  him  peculiarly  susceptible  to  what  was 
fine  and  moving  in  their  strange,  ardent  romance. 

To  his  ideal, — so  he  could  still  tell  himself  when  on 
one  of  those  lamentable  return  journeys  from  some 
experimental  excursion  in  that  most  debatable  land, 
le  pays  du  tendre, — he  could  and  would  remain  faithful, 
however  faithless  he  might  become  to  the  actual  woman 
who,  at  the  moment,  had  fallen  short  of  that  same  ideal. 

Berwick  constantly  made  the  mistake  of  consciously 
seeking  love,  and  so  of  allowing  nothing  for  that  element 
of  fantasy  and  surprise  which  has  always  played  so 
great  a  part  in  spontaneous  affairs  of  the  heart. 

He  asked  too  much,  not  so  much  of  love,  as  of  life — 
intellect,  passion,  tenderness,  fidelity,  all  these  to  be 
merged  together  in  one  who  could  only  hope  to  be 
linked  with  her  beloved  in  unlawful,  and  therefore,  so 
whispered  experience,  in  but  temporary  bonds. 

During  the  last  ten  years — Berwick  was  now  thirty- 
five,  and,  while  his  brief  married  life  lasted,  he  had 
been  absolutely  faithful  to  the  poor  sickly  woman  whose 
love  for  him  had  fallen  short  of  the  noblest  of  all — b§ 


172  BARBARA   REBELL. 

had  found  some  of  the  quahties  he  regarded  as  essential 
to  a  great  and  steadfast  passion,  first  in  one,  and  then 
in  another,  but  never  had  he  found  them  all  united,  as 
his  uncle  had  done,  in  one  woman. 

Mrs.  Marshall,  of  whom  his  sister  was  still  so  afraid 
had  first  attracted  him  as  a  successful  example  of  that 
type  of  woman  to  whom  beauty,  and  the  brilliant  exer- 
cise of  her  feminine  instincts,  stand  in  lieu  of  mind  and 
heart,  and  whose  whole  life  is  absorbed  in  the  effort  to 
excite  feelings  which  she  is  determined  neither  to  share 
nor  to  gratify.  To  vivify  this  lovely  statue,  to  revenge, 
may-be,  the  wrongs  of  many  of  his  sex,  had  been  for 
Berwick  an  amusing  diversion,  a  game  of  skill  in  which 
both  combatants  were  to  play  with  buttoned  foils. 

But  Mrs.  Marshall,  caught  up  at  last  into  the  flames 
in  which  she  had  seen  so  many  burn — holocausts  to 
her  vanity  and  intense  egotism — suddenly  began  to 
love  Berwick  with  that  dry,  speechless  form  of  passion 
which  sears  both  the  lover  and  the  beloved,  and  which 
seems  to  strip  the  woman  of  self-respect,  the  man  of 
that  tenderness  which  should  drape  even  spurious 
passion. 

The  death  of  the  lady's  husband  had  occurred  most 
inopportunely,  and  had  been  followed,  after  what  had 
seemed  to  Berwick — now  wholly  disillusioned — a  shock- 
ingly short  interval,  by  one  of  those  scenes  of  horror 
which  sometimes  occur  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women 
and  which  each  participant  would  give  much  to  blot 
out  from  memory.  During  the  interview  he  shuddered 
to  remember,  Berwick  had  been  brought  to  say,  "  My 
freedom  is  dearer  to  me,  far  more  so,  than  life  itself! 
If  I  had  to  choose  between  marriage  and  death,  I  should 
choose  death  !  " 

Arabella  need  not  have  been  afraid.  Louise  Mar- 
shall's very  name  had  become  hateful  to  him,  and  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  173 

fact  that  she  was  still  always  trying  to  throw  herself 
across  his  path  had  been  one  reason  why  he  had  spent 
the  whole  summer  far  from  England. 

It  was  in  this  mood,  being  at  the  moment  out  of  love 
with  love,  that  Berwick  had  come  back  this  autumn  to 
Sussex  and  to  Chancton  Priory.  It  was  in  this  same 
mood  that  he  had  first  met  Barbara  Rebell,  and  had 
spent  with  her  the  evening  of  which  he  was  afterwards 
to  try  and  reconstitute  every  moment,  to  recall  every 
word  uttered  by  either.  He  had  been  interested, 
attracted,  perhaps  most  of  all  relieved,  to  find  a  woman 
so  different  from  the  type  which  had  caused  him  so 
much  distress,  shame,  and — what  was  perhaps,  to  a 
man  of  his  temperament,  worse — annoyance. 

Then,  after  that  short  sojourn  at  the  Priory,  he  had 
gone  away,  and  thought  of  Barbara  not  at  all.  Certain 
matters  had  caused  him  to  come  back  to  Chillingworth 
before  going  on  to  Halnakeham  Castle,  and  during 
those  days,  with  a  suddenness  which  had  left  him 
defenceless,  had  come  a  passion  of  deep  feeling — none 
of  those  about  them  ventured  to  give  that  feeling  its 
true  name — for  the  desolate-eyed,  confiding  creature, 
who,  if  now  thrown  defenceless  in  his  way  as  no  woman 
had  ever  yet  been,  was  yet  instinct  with  some  quality 
which  seemed  to  act  as  a  shield  between  himself  and 
the  tremulous,  tender  heart  he  knew  was  there,  if  only 
because  of  the  love  Barbara  lavished  on  Madame 
Sampiero. 

During  those  early  days,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
Berwick's  experience,  humility  walked  hand  in  hand  with 
love,  and  the  lover  for  a  while  found  himself  in  that  most 
happy  state  when  passion  seems  intensified  by  respect. 
James  Berwick  had  hitherto  been  always  able  to  analyse 
every  stage  of  his  feeling  in  regard  to  the  woman  who  at 


174  BARBARA   REBELL. 

the  moment  occupied  his  imagination,  but  with  regard 
to  Mrs.  Rebell  he  shrank  from  such  introspection. 

Yet  another  feeling,  and  one  oddly  new,  assailed  him 
during  those  long  hours  which  were  spent  in  Barbara's 
company — now  in  the  quiet  stately  downstair  rooms  of 
the  Priory,  now  out  of  doors,  ay,  and  even  by 
Madame  Sampiero's  couch,  for  there  Barbara,  as  if 
vaguely  conscious  of  pursuit,  would  often  take  refuge. 
Jealousy,  actual  and  retrospective  jealousy,  sharpened 
the  edge  of  Berwick's  feeling, — jealousy  of  Boringdon, 
of  whom  he  gathered  Barbara  had  lately  seen  so  much, 
and  with  whom,  as  he  could  himself  see,  she  must  be 
on  terms  of  pleasant  comradeship — jealousy,  far  more 
poignant  and  searching,  of  Pedro  Rebell,  and  of  that 
past  which  the  woman  Berwick  was  beginning  to  regard 
as  wholly  his,  had  spent  with  him. 

Mrs.  Rebell  never  made  the  slightest  allusion  to  her 
husband,  and  yet  for  six  long  years — those  formative 
years  between  nineteen  and  five-and-twenty — Pedro 
Rebell  must  have  been,  and  in  a  sense  rarely  allowed  to 
civilised  man,  the  master  of  this  delicate,  sensitive 
woman,  and,  when  he  so  pleased,  her  lover.  Who  else 
save  the  half-Spanish  West  Indian  planter  could  have 
brought  that  shadow  of  fear  into  Barbara's  eyes,  and 
have  made  her  regard  the  passion  of  love,  as  Berwick 
had  very  soon  divined  she  did  regard  it,  as  something 
which  shames  rather  than  exalts  human  nature  ? 

From  one  and  another,  going  even  to  Chancton 
Cottage,  and  questioning  Mrs.  Boringdon  in  his  desire 
to  know  what  Barbara  he  knew  well  would  never  tell 
him,  Berwick  had  so  far  pieced  together  her  past  history 
aS  to  come  somewhere  near  the  truth  of  what  her  life 
had  been.  He  could  picture  Barbara's  quiet  childhood 
at  St.  Germains:  could  follow  her  girlhood — spent 
partly  in  France,  partly  in  Italy — to  which,  as  she  grew 


BARBARA   REBELL>  175 

to  know  him  better,  she  often  referred,  and  which  had 
given  her  a  kind  of  mental  cultivation  which,  to  such 
a  man  as  himself,  was  peculiarly  agreeable.  Then, 
lastly,  and  most  often,  he  would  recall  her  long  sojourn 
in  the  lonely  West  Indian  plantation.  There,  if  Grace 
Johnstone  was  to  be  believed,  she  had  at  times  suffered 
actual  physical  ill-treatment  from  the  man  whom  she 
had  married  because  he  had  come  across  her  path  at  a 
moment  when  she  had  been  left  utterly  alone ;  and  also 
because — so  Berwick,  as  he  grew  to  understand  her, 
truly  divined — Pedro  Rebell  bore  her  father's  name, 
and  shared  the  nationality  of  which  those  English  men 
and  women  who  are  condemned  to  exile  are  so 
pathetically  proud. 

Mrs.Turke,  Doctor  McKirdy,  and  Madame  Sampiero 
all  watched  with  varying  feelings  the  little  drama  which 
was  being  enacted  before  their  eyes. 

Of  the  three,  Mrs.  Turke  had  the  longest  refused  to 
believe  the  evidence  afforded  by  her  very  shrewd  senses. 
The  old  housekeeper  took  a  frankly  material  view  of 
life,  and  Doctor  McKirdy  had  not  been  far  wrong  when 
he  had  once  offended  her  by  observing,  "  I  should 
describe  you,  woman,  as  a  grand  old  pagan  !  "  There 
were  few  things  she  would  not  have  done  to  pleasure 
James  Berwick;  and  that  he  should  enjoy  a  passing 
flirtation  with  Mrs.  Rebell  would  have  been  quite  within 
his  old  nurse's  view  of  what  should  be — nay  more, 
Mrs.  Turke  would  have  visited  with  condemnation  any 
lady  who  had  shown  herself  foolishly  coy  in  accepting 
the  attentions  of  such  a  gentleman. 

But  when  the  old  woman  realised,  as  she  soon  came 
to  do,  that  Berwick's  feeling  for  Madame  Sampiero*s 
kinswoman  was  of  a  very  different  quality  from  that  with 
which  she  had  at  first  credited  him,  then  Mrs.  Turke 


176  BARBARA   REBEL L. 

felt  full  of  vague  alarm,  and  she  liked  to  remind  herself 
that  Mrs.  Rebell  was  a  wife,  and,  from  certain  indica- 
tions, a  good  and  even  a  religious  woman  in  the 
old-fashioned  sense  of  the  word. 

These  stormy  November  days,  so  rough  without,  so 
peaceful  within,  each  big  with  the  presage  of  coming 
winter,  reminded  Mrs.  Turke  of  another  autumn  at 
Chancton,  and  of  other  lovers  who  had  found  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Priory  strangely  conducive  to  such 
a  state  of  feeling  as  that  which  seemed  to  be  brooding 
over  James  Berwick  and  Barbara  Rebell. 

True,  Madame  Sampiero  and  Lord  Bosworth  had 
been  far  more  equally  matched  in  the  duel  which 
had  ended  in  the  defeat  of  both :  but  the  woman,  in 
that  conflict,  had  been  troubled  with  fewer  scruples. 
They  also  had  begun  by  playing  at  friendship — they 
also  had  thought  it  within  their  power  to  absorb  only 
the  sweet,  and  to  reject  the  bitter,  of  the  feast  spread 
out  before  them.  In  those  far  away  days  Mrs.  Turke 
had  been,  to  a  certain  limited  extent,  the  confidante  of 
her  mistress,  and  now  she  felt  angered  at  the  know- 
ledge that  her  foster-son  was  becoming  impatiently 
aware  of  her  watching  eyes,  and  nervously  afraid  of 
any  word,  even  said  by  his  old  nurse  in  joke,  concern- 
ing his  growing  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Rebell. 

To  Madame  Sampiero,  the  present  also  brought 
back  the  past,  and  that,  ah  !  yes,  most  poignantly. 
As  she  lay  in  her  beautiful  room,  her  solitude  only 
broken  by  those  two  whom  she  had  begun  to  watch 
so  painfull}',  or  by  Doctor  McKirdy  who  gave  her  news  of 
them,  she  felt  like  the  wounded  warrior  to  whom 
heralds  bring  at  intervals  news  of  the  conflict  raging 
without.  A  word  had  been  said  by  Mrs.  Turke  soon 
after  Berwick's  return,  but  the  housekeeper  had  been 
rebuked  by  her  paralysed  mistress  with  sharp  decision. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  177 

The  thought  that  the  creature  who  was  beginning 
not  to  take,  so  much  as  to  share,  in  her  heart  the  place 
of  her  dead  child,  could  be  caught  in  the  net  out  of 
which  she  herself  had  not  even  yet  cut  herself  free,  was 
intolerable — the  more  so  that  she  had  been  amused, 
rather  cynically  amused,  at  the  effect  her  god- daughter 
had  produced  on  the  austere  Boringdon.  To  see  them 
together,  to  see  his  growing  infatuation,  and  Barbara's 
utter  unconsciousness  of  the  feeling  which,  after  the 
first  memorable  interview,  brought  him  daily  to  the 
Priory,  had  been  to  Barbara's  god-mother  a  delicious 
comedy.  The  woman  in  her  delighted  in  the  easy 
triumph  of  this  other  woman,  more  particularly  because 
at  first  she  had  not  credited  Barbara  Rebell  with  the 
possession  of  feminine  charm. 

In  this  matter  Boringdon  showed  Madame  Sampiero 
how  wrong  she  had  been,  and  not  he  only,  but  many 
others  also  had  at  once  come  under  her  spell.  And 
then,  as  is  nearly  always  the  way  with  those  women 
who  inspire  sudden  passions,  Mrs.  Rebell's  charm  was 
not,  in  its  essence,  one  of  sex.  The  grim,  silent 
Scottish  woman,  Madame  Sampiero's  night  attendant, 
smiled  when  Barbara  came  into  the  room,  and  L^onie, 
the  French  maid,  had  very  early  informed  her  mistress, 
"  Je  sens  que  je  vais  adorer  cette  Madame  Rebell !  " 
while  as  for  James  Berwick,  his  attitude  the  more 
moved  and  interested  Madame  Sampiero,  because  she 
had  never  seen  him  in  any  relation  save  in  that  of  her 
own  kind,  cool,  and  attentive  guest. 

Every  nature  betrays  feeling  in  a  manner  peculiarly 
its  own.  Berwick  would  have  been  surprised  indeed 
had  he  realised  his  constant  betrayal  of  a  passion  so 
instinctive  as  to  be  as  yet  only  partially  revealed  to  his 
innermost  self.  For  the  first  time  in  his  experience  he 
loved  nobly — that  is,  with  tenderness  and  abnegation. 

B.iU  N 


178  BARBARA   REBELL. 

To  be  constantly  with  Barbara,  to  talk  to  her  with 
that  entire  intimacy  made  possible  by  the  solitary 
circumstances  of  her  life,  was  all  he  asked  as  yet. 
Barbara  Rebell,  during  those  same  short  weeks,  was 
also  happy,  and  wholly  content  with  the  life  she  saw 
spread  out  before  her — looking  back  to  the  six  years 
spent  with  Pedro  Rebell  as  to  a  terrible  ordeal  lying 
safely  far  behind  her,  so  deep,  so  racial  had  been,  after 
the  first  few  weeks  of  their  married  life,  the  antagonism 
between  them. 

Feeling  her  physical  helplessness  more  than  she  had 
ever  done,  Madame  Sampiero  asked  herself,  with  a 
foreboding  which  deepened  into  pain,  whether  certain 
passages  in  her  own  life  were  now  about  to  be  enacted 
over  again  in  that  of  her  own  cousin  ?  Lying  there, 
her  mind  alone  free,  she  told  herself  that  while  regret- 
ting nothing  that  had  been,  she  yet  would  do  all  in  her 
power  to  prevent  one  she  loved  from  going  through 
what  she  had  endured— the  more  so  that,  to  her  mind, 
James  Berwick  was  not  comparable  to  the  man  for 
whom  she  had  herself  sacrificed  everything.  Lord 
Bosworth's  only  desire,  and  that  over  long  years,  had 
been  to  make  the  woman  he  loved  his  wife.  She  knew 
well  that  the  nephew  had  a  more  ingenious  and  a  less 
simple  nature — that  the  two  men  looked  at  life  from  a 
very  different  standpoint. 

Madame  Sampiero  also  realised  to  the  full  what 
Berwick's  great  wealth  had  meant  and  did  mean  to 
him,  and  how  different  a  man  he  would  have  been 
without  it.  Had  Barbara  Rebell  been  free,  so  the  para- 
lysed woman  now  told  herself,  James  Berwick  would 
have  fled  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Priory  at  the 
first  dawn  of  his  attraction. 

Barbara's  god-mother  would  have  given  much  to  know 
what  neither  her  own  observation  nor  Doctor  McKirdy's 


BARBARA   REBELL.  179 

could  tell  her — namely,  how  Berwick's  undisguised  pas- 
sion was  affecting  the  object  of  it.  Every  day  the  older 
woman  looked  for  some  sign,  for  some  conscious  look, 
but  Barbara  remained  in  this  one  matter  an  enigma  to 
those  about  her.  Madame  Sampiero  knew — as  every 
woman  who  has  gone  through  certain  experiences  is 
bound  to  know — the  deep  secrecy,  the  deeper  self- 
repression,  which  human  beings,  under  certain  condi- 
tions, can  exercise  when  the  question  involved  is  one  of 
feeling,  and  so  sometimes,  but  never  when  Mrs.  Rebell 
was  actually  with  her,  she  wondered  whether  the  at- 
titude of  Barbara  to  Berwick  hid  responsive  emotion, 
which,  when  the  two  were  alone  together,  knew  how  to 
show  itself  articulate. 

One  thing  soon  became  clear.  Barbara  much  pre- 
ferred to  see  either  Boringdon  or  Berwick  alone ;  she 
avoided  their  joint  company ;  and  that,  so  the  three 
who  so  closely  observed  her  were  inclined  to  think, 
might  be  taken  as  a  sign  that  she  knew  most  surely 
how  it  was  with  them,  if  still  ignoring  how  it  was  with 
herself. 

Concerning  love — that  mysterious  passion  which 
Plotinus  so  well  describes  as  part  god  part  devil — 
Doctor  McKirdy  was  an  absolute  fatalist.  He  regarded 
the  attraction  of  man  to  woman  as  inevitable  in  its 
manifestations  as  are  any  of  the  other  maleficent  forces 
of  nature,  and  for  this  view — not  to  go  further  than 
his  own  case — he  had  good  reason.  Till  he  was  nearly 
thirty,  he  had  himself  experienced,  not  only  a  dis- 
taste but  a  positive  contempt  for  what  those  about 
him  described  as  love. 

However  much  the  fact  was  disguised  by  soft  phrases, 
he,  the  young  Alexander  McKirdy,  knew  full  well  that 
the  passion   was  wholly  base  and    devilish — playing 

N   2 


i8o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

sometimes  impish,  more  often  terrible,  tricks  on  those 
it  lured  within  its  labyrinth  ;  causing  men  to  deviate 
almost  unconsciously  from  the  paths  lying  straight  before 
them  ;  generally  injuring  their  careers,  and  invariably 
— and  this,  to  such  a  nature  as  his  own,  seemed  the 
most  tragic  thing  of  all — making,  while  the  spell  was 
upon  the  victims,  utter  fools  of  them.  Above  all  had 
he  condemned,  with  deepest  scorn  and  intolerance — 
this,  doubtless,  owing  in  a  measure  to  his  early  religious 
training — that  man  who  allowed  himself  to  feel  the 
slightest  attraction  for  a  married  woman ;  indeed,  for 
such  a  one,  he  felt  nothing  but  scathing  contempt. 
The  whole  subject  of  man's  relation  to  woman  was  one 
on  which  the  doctor  had  been,  even  as  a  very  raw  and 
shy  youth,  always  ready  to  hold  forth,  warning  and 
admonishing  those  about  him,  especially  his  own  senti- 
mental countrymen  cast  up  on  the  lonely  and  yet 
siren-haunted  sea  of  London  life. 

Then,  holding  these  views  more  than  ever,  though 
perhaps  less  eager  to  discuss  them,  a  chance  had 
brought  him  to  Chancton,  thbre  to  fall  himself  in  the 
same  snare  which  he  believed  in  all  good  faith  so  easy 
to  avoid.  After  one  determined  effort  to  shake  himself 
free,  he  had  bowed  his  neck  to  the  yoke,  gradually  sacri- 
ficing all  that  he  had  once  thought  made  life  alone 
worth  living  to  a  feeling  which  he  had  known  to  be  unre- 
quited, and  which  for  a  time  he  had  believed  to  be 
unsuspected  by  the  object  of  it. 

Who  was  he,  Alexander  McKirdy,  so  he  asked  himself 
during  those  days  when  he  watched  with  very  mingled 
feelings  Berwick  and  Barbara — ^who  was  he  to  jeer,  to 
find  fault,  even  to  feel  surprised  at  what  had  now 
befallen  James  Berwick  and  Barbara  Rebell  ?  And 
yet,  as  was  still  apt  to  be  his  wont,  the  old  Scotchman 
blamed  the  woman  far  more  than  the  man — for  even 


BARBARA   REBELL.  i8i 

now,  to  his  mind,  man  was  the  victim,  woman  the 
Circe  leading  him  astray.  This  view  angered  the 
mistress  of  the  Priory,  but  not  even  to  please  Madame 
Sampiero  would  the  doctor  pretend  that  he  thought 
otherwise  than  he  did. 

"Is  this,  think  you,  the  first  time  she  soweth  de- 
struction ?  "  he  once  asked  rather  sternly.  **  I  tell  ye, 
Madam,  she  cannot  be  so  simple  as  ye  take  her  to  be  ! 
I  grant  her  Jamie  " — falling  back  in  the  eagerness  of 
the  discussion  on  what  had  been  his  name  for  Berwick 
as  a  child — "we  all  know  he's  a  charmer  1  But  how 
about  that  poor  stiff  loon,  Oliver  Boringdon  ?  would  you 
say  that  there  she  has  not  been  to  blame  ?  '* 

But  the  answering  murmur  was  very  decided,  "  I  am 
sure  it  is  the  first  time  she  has  sowed  destruction,  as 
you  call  it." 

**  Well  then,  she  has  been  lacking  the  opportunities 
God  gives  most  women  !  If  she  has  not  sowed,  it  has 
not  been  for  lack  of  the  seed :  she  has  a  very  persuasive 
manner — ^very  persuasive  indeed !  That  first  night 
before  she  stumbled  into  this  house,  I  was  only  half 
minded  that  she  should  see  you,  and  she  just  wheedled 
me  into  allowing  her  to  do  so — oh  I  in  a  very  dignified 
way,  that  I  will  admit.  Now  as  women  sow  so  shall 
they  reap." 

"That,"  muttered  Madame  Sampiero,  "is  quite 
true ;  "  and  the  doctor  had  pursued,  rather  ruthlessly, 
his  advantage.  "  Can  you  tell  me  in  all  honesty,"  he 
asked,  peering  forward  at  her,  meeting  with  softened 
gaze  the  wide  open  blue  eyes,  "  if  you  yourself  sowed 
destruction  innocently-like,  that  is  without  knowing 
it  ?  Was  there  ever  a  time  when  you  were  not  aware 
of  what  you  were  doing  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  paralysed  woman  had  made  no 
answer,  and  then  her  face  quivered,  and  he  knew  that 


i82  BARBARA   REBELL. 

the  sounds  which  issued  from  between  her  trembhng 
lips  signified,  "  Yes,  McKirdy,  I  always  did  know 
it!     But    Barbara    is   a  better  woman   than   I   ever 

was " 

"Ay,  and  not  one  half  so  beautiful  as  you  ever 
were ! "  The  doctor  had  remained  very  loyal  to  his 
own  especial  Circe. 

It  now  wanted  but  a  week  to  Lord  Pendragon's 
coming-of-age  ball,  and  Chancton  Priory  shared  in  the 
general  excitement.  Madame  Sampiero  was  well  aware 
that  this  would  be  her  god-daughter's  real  introduction 
to  the  neighbourhood,  and  she  was  most  anxious  that 
the  first  impression  should  be  wholly  favourable.  As 
regarded  what  Barbara  was  to  wear,  success  could 
certainly  be  achieved ;  but  in  whose  company  she 
should  make  her  first  appearance  at  Halnakeham 
Castle  was  more  difficult  to  arrange,  for  it  had 
come  to  Doctor  McKirdy's  knowledge  that  James 
Berwick  intended  that  he  and  Mrs.  Rebell  should 
share  the  long  drive  from  Chancton  to  the  Castle. 

This  the  mistress  of  the  Priory  was  determined  to 
prevent,  and  that  without  signifying  her  sense  of  its 
indecorum.  The  way  out  of  the  difficulty  seemed 
simple.  Madame  Sampiero  intimated  her  wish  that 
Doctor  McKirdy  should  be  the  third  occupant  of  the 
Priory  carriage,  and  that  with  this  strange-looking 
cavalier,  Barbara  should  make  her  appearance  at  the 
Castle :  in  that  matter  she  thought  she  could  trust 
to  Berwick's  instinct  of  what  was  becoming,  and 
further,  she  had  little  fear  that  he  would  wish  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  Duchess  of  Appleby  and 
Kendal  to  his  friendship  with  Mrs.  Rebell.  But,  to 
Madame  Sampiero's  astonishment  and  chagrin,  Doctor 
McKirdy  refused  to  lend  himself  to  the  plan. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  183 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  thinking  the  matter 
over,  and  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  oblige  ye. 
Your  wit  will  have  to  find  out  another  way."  There 
had  been  a  pause,  and  he  added,  with  one  of  his  curious 
twisted  smiles,  **  It's  not  such  as  I  who  would  dare  to 
intervene  at  *  the  canny  hour  at  e'en'  I  " 

"Then  I  must  tell  James  it  cannot  be  I "  Madame 
Sampiero  spoke  the  words  with  the  odd  muffled  dis- 
tinctness which  sometimes  came  over  her  utterance. 
But  Doctor  McKirdy  had  been  thinking  carefully  over 
the  situation :  "  Why  not  ask  Mrs.  Boringdon  ?  "  he 
growled  out.  "  The  woman  does  little  enough  for  the 
good  living  she  gets  here !  " 

Madame  Sampiero  looked  at  her  faithful  old  friend 
with  real  gratitude.  How  foolish  she  had  been  not  to 
have  thought  of  that  most  natural  solution  I  But  to 
her,  Oliver  Boringdon's  mother  was  the  merest  shadow, 
scarcely  a  name. 

And  so  it  was  that  James  Berwick's  plan  was  defeated, 
while  Barbara  Rebell,  who  had  not  as  yet  become  as 
intimate  with  Grace  Johnstone's  mother  as  she  hoped 
to  do,  was  made,  somewhat  against  her  will,  to  write 
and  invite  Mrs.  Boringdon  and  her  son  to  share  with 
her  the  Priory  carriage. 


CHAPTER  X. 

•  Never,  my  dear,  was  honour  yet  undone 
By  love,  but  by  indiscretion  ',  " 

Cowley. 

It  was  the  second  day  of  the  three  which  were  being 
devoted  to  the  coming-of-age  festivities  of  Lord  Pen- 
dragon,  and  Miss  Berwick  had  asked  herself  to  lunch 
at  Halnakeham  Castle.  Because  of  the  great  ball 
which  was  to  take  place  that  evening,  this  day  was 
regarded  by  the  Duchess  and  the  more  sober  of  her 
guests  as  an  off-day — one  in  which  there  was  to  be  a 
lull  in  the  many  old-fashioned  jollifications  and  junket- 
ings which  were  being  given  in  honour  of  the  son  of 
the  house. 

The  Duchess  of  Appleby  and  Kendal  had  been  a  very 
good  friend  to  Arabella  and  to  her  brother,  and  that 
over  long  years.  Owing  to  a  certain  inter-marriage 
between  her  own  family  and  that  of  the  Berwicks,  she 
chose  to  consider  them  as  relations,  and  as  such  had 
consistently  treated  them.  She  was  fond  of  James, 
and  believed  in  his  political  future.  Arabella  she 
respected  and  admired  :  both  respect  and  admiration 
having  sure  foundations  in  a  fact  which  had  come  to 
the  Duchess's  knowledge  in  the  days  when  she  was  still 
young,  still  slender,  and  still,  so  she  sometimes  told 
herself  with  a  sigh,  enthusiastic  1  This  fact  had  been 
the  sacrifice  by  Arabella  Berwick  of  the  small  fortune 
left  her  by  her  parents,  in  order  that  some  debts  of  her 
brother's  might  be  paid. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  185 

At  the  present  moment  James  Berwick  was  actually 
staying  at  the  Castle,  and  his  sister  had  asked  herself 
to  lunch  in  order,  if  possible  to  see,  and  if  not,  to  hear, 
on  what  terms  he  found  himself  with  that  one  of  his 
fellow  guests  whom  his  hostess,  knowing  what  she  did 
know  of  Arabella's  fears,  should  not  have  allowed  him 
to  meet  under  her  roof. 

To  Miss  Berwick's  discomfiture,  Louise  Marshall  was 
at  lunch,  more  tragic,  more  mysterious  in  her  manner, 
alas  !  more  lovely,  in  her  very  modified  widow's  dress, 
than  ever ;  but  Arabella's  brother,  so  her  host  informed 
her  when  they  were  actually  seated  at  table,  had  gone 
over  for  the  day  to  Chillingworth  !  This  meant  that 
the  sister  had  had  a  four-mile  drive  for  nothing — a 
drive,  too,  which  was  to  be  repeated  that  same  evening, 
for  the  whole  of  the  Fletchings  party,  even  Lord 
Bosworth,  were  coming  to  the  ball. 

One  of  the  most  curious  of  human  phenomena  met 
with  by  the  kindly  and  good-hearted  who  are  placed  by 
Providence  in  positions  of  importance  and  responsibility, 
is  the  extreme  willingness  shown  by  those  about  them 
to  profit  by  that  same  kindliness  and  good-heartedness 
— joined  to  a  keen  disapproval  when  those  same 
qualities  are  exercised  on  behalf  of  others  than 
themselves ! 

There  had  been  a  time  when  the  Duchess's  rather 
culpable  good-nature,  strengthened  by  her  real  affection 
for  the  two  young  people  concerned,  had  been  of  the 
utmost  service  to  Arabella  Berwick — when,  indeed, 
without  the  potent  help  of  Halnakeham  Castle,  Miss 
Berwick  would  have  been  unable  to  achieve  what  had 
then  been,  not  only  the  dearest  wish  of  her  heart,  but 
one  of  the  utmost  material  moment — the  marriage  of 
her  brother  to  the  great  heiress  whose  family  had  hoped 


i86  BARBARA   REBELL. 

better  things  for  her  than  a  union  with  Lord  Bosworth's 
embarrassed  though  brilliant  nephew  and  heir. 

But  the  kind  Duchess's  services  on  that  occasion 
were  now  forgotten  in  Arabella's  extreme  anger  and 
indignation  at  the  weak  folly  which  had  led  to  Mrs. 
Marshall's  being  asked  to  meet  Berwick.  The  sister 
had  come  over  to  Halnakeham  determined  to  say  nothing 
of  what  she  thought,  for  she  was  one  of  those  rare  women 
who  never  cry  over  spilt  milk, — the  harm,  if  harm  there 
were,  was  already  done.  But  the  old  habit  of  con- 
fidence between  the  two  women,  only  separated  by  some 
ten  years  in  age,  had  proved  too  strong,  especially  as 
the  opportunity  was  almost  thrust  upon  the  younger  of 
the  two  by  her  affectionate  and  apologetic  hostess. 

"  Qui  s'excuse  s'accuse  "  ;  the  Duchess,  sitting  alone 
after  lunch  with  her  dear  Arabella,  should  surely  haVe 
remembered  the  wise  French  proverb,  the  more  so  as 
she  had  not  made  up  her  mind  how  much  she  meant  to 
say,  and  how  much  to  leave  unsaid,  concerning  James 
Berwick's  strange  behaviour  during  the  few  days  he 
had  been  sleeping, — but  by  no  means  living, — at  the 
Castle. 

**  Well,  my  dear,  we  need  not  have  been  afraid  about 
your  brother  and  poor  Louise  Marshall — from  what  I 
can  make  out,  he  has  hardly  said  a  word  to  her  since 
he  has  been  here !  In  fact,  he  has  hardly  been  here  at 
all.  He  goes  off  in  the  morning  and  comes  back  late 
in  the  afternoon.  He  did  stay  and  help  yesterday,  and 
made,  by  the  way,  a  most  charming  little  speech, — but 
then  he  took  his  evening  off!  I've  been  wondering 
whether  there  can  be  any  counter  attraction  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Chillingworth — ?  " 

The  speaker  looked  rather  significantly  at  her  guest. 
She  had  been  at  some  trouble  to  find  out  what  that 
attraction    could   be    which    took    Berwick    daily   to 


BARBARA   REBELL.  i»7 

Chancton,  and  as  her  own  confidential  maid  was 
Mrs.  Turke's  niece,  and  a  Chancton  woman,  she  had 
come  to  a  pretty  shrewd  idea  of  the  truth. 

But  Miss  Berwick  was  absorbed  in  her  grievance. 
"  No,"  she  said  sharply,  "  certainly  not  1  James  hasn't 
ever  been  over  to  Fletchings,  and  we  have  no  one  stay- 
ing there  whom  he  could  want  to  see.  I  suppose  the 
truth  is  he  wisely  tries  to  escape  from  Mrs.  Marshall. 
Knowing  all  you  know,  Albinia,  and  all  I  said  to  you 
last  year,  how  could  you  have  the  woman  here  ?  I  was 
really  aghast  when  I  heard  that  she  was  coming,  and 
that  James  was  hurrying  back  to  see  her — of  course 
everyone  must  be  putting  two  and  two  together,  and 
he  will  find  himself  at  last  in  a  really  bad  scrape  !  " 

The  Duchess  began  to  look  very  uncomfortable. 
"The  poor  soul  wrote  and  asked  if  she  might  come," 
she  said  feebly  ;  **  I  do  think  that  you  are  rather  hard- 
hearted. It  would  melt  your  heart  if  you  were  to  hear 
her  talking  about  him  to  me.  She  has  paid  a  woman — 
some  poor  Irish  lady  recommended  to  her — to  look  up 
all  his  old  speeches,  and  she  devotes  an  hour  every  day 
to  reading  them  over,  and  that  although  she  doesn't 
understand  a  word  of  what  she's  reading  !  It's  really 
rather  touching,  and  I  do  think  he  owes  her  something. 
Of  course  you  know  what  she  would  like,  what  she  is 
hoping  for  against  hope — old  Mr.  Marshall  was  a  very 
rich  man " 

Miss  Berwick  knew  very  well,  but  she  thought  the 
question  an  outrage — so  foolish  and  so  shocking  that 
it  was  not  worth  an  answer.  Indeed,  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  a  slight  but  very  decided  shrug,  more 
eloquent  than  any  words  could  have  been  from  such  a 
woman. 

The  Duchess,  kind  as  she  was,  and  with  a  power  of 
sympathetic  insight  which  often  made  her  unhappy, 


i88  BARBARA   REBELL. 

felt  suddenly  angered.  She  took  up  a  book.  It  had  a 
mark  in  it.  "  Reading  this  sentence,"  she  said  rather 
nervously,  "  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  your 
brother." 

Miss  Berwick  held  out  a  languid  hand.  She  thought 
this  rather  a  mean  way  of  avoiding  a  discussion.  Then 
she  read  aloud  the  sentence — 

**  It  is  the  punishment  of  Don  Juanism  to  create  con- 
tinually false  positions,  relations  in  life  which  are  false 
in  themselves,  and  which  it  is  equally  wrong  to  break 
or  to  perpetuate." 

There  was  a  pause.  Arabella  put  the  book  down, 
and  pushed  it  from  her  with  an  almost  violent  gesture. 
**I  cannot  understand,"  she  cried,  "how  this  can  in 
any  way  have  suggested  James !  I  never  met  a  man 
who  was  less  of  a  Don  Juan.  If  he  was  so  he  would 
be  happier,  and  so  should  I.  Imagine  Don  Juan  and 
Louise  Marshall — why,  he  would  have  made  mince- 
meat of  such  a  woman ;  she  would  have  been  a  mere 
episode !  " 

**  And  what  more  has  poor  Louise  been  ?  No  woman 
likes  to  be  a  mere  episode  !  I  do  not  say  " — the  Duchess 
spoke  slowly ;  she  knew  she  had  gone  a  little  too  far, 
and  wished  to  justify  herself,  also  to  find  out,  for  the 
knowledge  had  made  her  very  indignant,  if  Arabella 
was  aware  of  how  her  brother  was  now  spending 
his  time, — "  I  do  not  say  by  any  means  that  your 
brother  is  a  Don  Juan  in  the  low  and  mean  sense  of 
the  term,  but  circumstances  and  you — yes,  you,  in  a 
measure — have  made  his  relations  to  women  essentially 
false  and  unnatural.  Yes,  my  dear  girl,  that  sort  of 
thing  is  against  nature !  You  are  amazed  and  indig- 
nant when  I  speak  of  it  as  being  possible  that  he  should 
marry  Louise  Marshall,  and  yet  I  am  quite  sure  that 
James  is  a  man  far  more  constituted  for  normal  than 


BARBARA   REBELL.  iSg 

for  abnormal  conditions,  and  that  he  would  be  happier, 
and  more  successful  in  the  things  that  you  consider 
important  for  him  if,  like  other  men,  he  realised  that — 
that " 

The  Duchess  stole  a  look  at  her  guest's  rigid  face, 
then  went  on  with  dogged  courage — 

**  Well,  that  a  certain  kind  of  behaviour  nearly 
always  leads  to  a  man's  having  to  take  a  woman — 
generally  the  wrong  woman,  too — to  church,  that  is,  if 
he  is,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  an  honourable  man  !  I 
fear,"  concluded  the  Duchess  dolefully,  '*  that  you 
think  me  very  coarse.  But  James  and  Louise  between 
them  have  made  me  quite  wretched  the  last  few  days, 
so  you  must  forgive  me,  and  really  I  don't  think  you 
have  anything  to  fear — Louise  is  leaving  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

The  speaker  got  up  ;  why,  oh  !  why,  had  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  lured  into  this  odious  discussion  ? 

Arabella  had  also  risen,  and  for  a  moment  the 
two  women,  perfectly  contrasted  types  of  what  cen- 
turies have  combined  to  make  the  modern  English- 
woman of  the  upper  class,  faced  one  another. 

The  Duchess  was  essentially  maternal  and  large- 
hearted  in  her  outlook  on  life.  She  was  eager  to  com- 
pass the  happiness  of  those  round  her,  and  thanked  God 
daily  for  having  given  her  so  good  a  husband  and  such 
perfect  children — unconscious  that  she  had  herself 
made  them  to  a  great  extent  what  they  were.  Par- 
ticular to  niceness  as  to  her  own  conduct,and  that  of  her 
daughters,  she  was  yet  the  pitying  friend  of  all  black 
sheep  whose  blackness  was  due  to  softness  of  heart 
rather  than  hardness  of  head.  On  the  whole,  a  very 
happy  woman — one  who  would  meet  even  those  natural 
griefs  which  come  to  us  all  with  soft  tears  of  submission, 
but  who  would  know  how  to  avert  unnatural  disaster. 


igo  BARBARA   REBELL. 

To  her  alone  had  been  confided  the  story  of  Miss 
Berwick's  love  passages  with  Daniel  O'Flaherty. 
To-day,  looking  at  the  still  youthful  figure  and 
proud  reserved  face  of  her  friend,  she  marvelled  at  the 
strength  of  character,  the  mingled  cruelty  and  firmness, 
Arabella  had  shown,  and  she  wondered,  not  for  the  first 
time,  whether  the  agony  endured  had  been  in  any  sense 
justified  by  its  results.  Then  she  reminded  herself  that 
as  Mrs.  O'Flaherty  the  sister  could  hardly  have  brought 
about,  as  Miss  Berwick  had  known  how  to  do,  her 
brother's  marriage  to  one  of  the  wealthiest  unmarried 
women  of  her  day. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  be  going  downstairs ;  and — 
and — please  forgive  me  for  speaking  as  I  did  just  now 
— you  know  I  am  simply  tired  out !  " 

And  indeed  the  Duchess  had  endured  that  which  had 
gone  far  to  spoil  her  innocent  happiness  in  her  son's 
coming-of-age  festivities.  After  each  long  day  of  what 
was  on  her  part  real  hard  work,  the  poor  lady,  whom 
all  about  her  envied,  would  call  on  her  only  confidant, 
the  Duke,  to  scourge  her  for  the  folly  to  which  her 
kindness  of  heart  and  platonic  sympathy  with  the 
tender  passion  had  led  her ;  and  husband-wise  he  would 
by  turns  comfort  and  scold  her,  saying  very  uncompli- 
mentary things  of  both  the  sinners  now  in  full  enjoy- 
ment of  his  hospitality.  Berwick,  generally  the  most 
agreeable  and  serviceable  of  guests,  was  moody,  ill  at 
ease,  and  often  absent  for  long  hours — behaving  indeed 
in  a  fashion  which  only  his  hosts'  long  kindness  to  him 
could,  in  any  way,  excuse  or  authorise. 

As  to  Mrs.  Marshall,  she  made  no  effort  to  disguise 
her  state  of  mind.  She  gloried  in  her  unfortunate  and 
unrequited  passion,  and  made  the  object  of  it  appear 
— what  he  flattered  himself  he  had  never  yet  been — 
absurd.      She  made   confidences  to  the  women  and 


BARBARA   REBELL.  191 

entertained  the  men  with  eulogies  of  Berwick.  Now, 
to-day,  she  was  looking  forward,  as  her  hostess  well 
knew,  to  the  evening.  At  the  ball  it  would  surely  be 
impossible  for  her  lover  to  escape  her,  though  her 
anxiety — and  this,  the  Duchess's  fatal  knowledge  of 
human  nature  also  made  clear  to  her — was  somewhat 
tempered  by  the  fact  that  on  this  occasion,  in  honour, 
as  she  plaintively  explained,  of  dear  Pendragon, 
and  in  order  to  cast  no  gloom  over  the  festivity,  she 
would  once  more  appear  in  a  dress  showing  the 
lovely  shoulders  which  had  once  been  described  as 
"  marmorean  " — the  word  had  greatly  gratified  her — 
by  a  Royal  connoisseur  of  feminine  beauty. 

The  fact  that  the  whole  affair  much  enlivened  the 
party  and  gave  an  extraordinary  **  montant "  to  what 
would  otherwise  have  been  rather  a  prosy  gathering, — 
that  her  guests  so  much  enjoyed  an  item  which  had 
no  place  in  the  long  programme  of  entertainments 
arranged  by  the  Duke  and  herself — was  no  conso- 
lation to  the  Duchess. 

**  One  moment,  Albinia  1 " 

The  younger  woman  had  turned  very  pale.  The 
Duchess's  words  concerning  Berwick  and  his  sentimental 
adventures  had  cut  her  to  the  quick.  Heavens !  was 
this  the  way  people  were  talking  of  her  brother  ?  The 
words,  "  an  honourable  man,"  sounded  in  her  ears. 
How  cruelly,  how  harshly,  men  and  women  judged 
each  other ! 

**  Of  course,  what  you  said  just  now  concerning 
James  and  his  love  affairs, — if  one  may  call  them 
so, — impressed  me.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  As 
you  know,  I  have  no  sympathy,  I  might  almost  say 
no  understanding,  of  his  attitude  in  these  matters. 
There  is  a  whole   side  of  life  to  which  I  feel,"  her 


T92  BARBARA   REBELL. 

voice  dropped,  "  the  utmost  repugnance.  I  have  never 
allowed  anyone  to  make  me  those  confidences  which 
seem  so  usual  nowadays,  nay,  more,  I  have  never  even 
glanced  at  the  details  of  any  divorce  case.  I  once 
dismissed  a  very  good  maid — you  remember  Bennett  ? 
— because  I  found  her  reading  something  of  the  kind  in 
my  room.  I  could  not  have  borne  to  have  about  me 
a  woman  who  I  knew  delighted  in  such  literature " 

"  But  my  dear  Arabella " 

"  Let  me  speak  !  Bear  with  me  a  moment  longer! 
Now,  about  James.  Of  course  I  know  he's  in  a  diffi- 
cult position — one  that  is,  as  you  say,  unnatural.  But, 
after  all,  many  men  remain  unmarried  from  choice, 
ay,  and  even  free  from  foolish  intrigues — to  me  such 
episodes  are  not  love  affairs.  If  there  is  any  fear  ot 
such  folly  leading  to  marriage,  well  then,  for  my  brother 
the  matter  becomes  one  of  terrible  moment " 

"  You  mean  because  of  the  money  ?  "  The  Duchess 
had  sunk  down  again  into  a  chair — she  was  looking  up 
at  her  friend,  full  of  remorse  at  having  seemed  to  put 
Arabella  on  her  defence. 

**  Yes,  Albinia,  because  of  the  money.  You  do  not 
know — you  have  never  known — what  it  is  to  lack 
money.  I  have  never  wanted  it  for  myself,  but  I  have 
longed  for  it,  Heaven  alone  knows  how  keenly,  simply 
to  be  relieved  from  constant  care  and  wearing  anxieties. 
I  seem  to  be  the  first  Berwick  who  has  learnt  how  not 
to  spend  !  As  for  James,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine 
him  again  a  poor  man." 

"  And  yet  he  is  not  extravagant." 

Miss  Berwick  looked  pityingly  at  the  Duchess. 
*'  What  is  extravagance  ?  Perhaps  in  the  common 
sense  of  the  word  James  is  not  extravagant.  But  he 
cares  supremely  for  those  things  which,  in  these 
ignoble  times  of  ours,  money  alone  ensures — Power — 


BARBARA   REBELL.  193 

the  power  to  be  independent — the  indefinite,  but  very 
real,  prestige  great  wealth  gives  among  those  who 
despise  the  prestige  of  rank." 

"  But  do  those  people  matter  ?  "  asked  the  Duchess, 
rather  superbly.     "  Snobbish  radicals — I've  met  'em  !  " 

"  But  that  is  just  what  they  are  not !  "  cried  Arabella 
feverishly.  "  They  care  nothing  for  rank,  but  they  do 
care,  terribly  so,  for  money.  The  man  who  is  known 
to  have  it — fluid  at  his  disposal  (that's  how  I  heard  one 
of  James's  friends  once  describe  it) — at  the  disposal, 
if  so  it  be  needed,  of  the  party,  commands  their 
allegiance  and  their  respect,  as  no  great  noble,  every 
penny  of  whose  income  is  laid  out  beforehand,  can 
hope  to  do.  If  James,  instead  of  marrying  as  he  did 
do,  had  gone  on  as  he  began,  where  would  he  be  now  ? 
What  position,  think  you,  would  he  occupy?  I  will 
tell  you,  Albinia, — that  of  a  Parliamentary  free-lance, 
whose  very  abilities  make  him  feared  by  the  leaders  of 
every  party ;  that  of  a  man  whose  necessities  make 
him  regard  office  as  the  one  thing  needful,  who  is,  or 
may  be,  open  to  subtle  forms  of  bribery,  whose  mouth 
may  be  suddenly  closed  on  the  bidding  of — ^well,  say, 
of  his  uncle,  Lord  Bosworth,  because  he  gives  him,  at 
very  long  and  uncertain  intervals,  such  doles  as  may 
keep  him  out  of  the  Bankruptcy  Court.  Can  you 
wonder  that  I  am  anxious  ?  To  me  he  is  everything 
in  the  world " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  then  began  speaking  again  in 
far  more  bitter  accents. 

**  Louise  Marshall !  You  spoke  just  now  of  his  possible 
marriage  to  that  woman.  She  may  be  rich,  but  I  tell 
you  fairly  that  I  would  rather  see  James  poor  than  rich 
through  her.  I  cannot  find  words  to  express  to  you 
what  I  think  of  her.  She  sold  herself,  her  youth,  her 
great  beauty,  her  name,  and  her  family  connections— 

B.R.  O 


194  BARBARA   REBELL. 

you  among  them,  Albinia — to  that  vulgar  old  man,  and 
now  that  the  whole  price  has  been  meted  out  to  her, 
she  wishes  to  re-invest  it  in  a  more  pleasant  fashion. 
She  has  sold  and  now  she  wishes  to  buy " 

"  My  dear  Arabella  I  " 

"Yes,  it  is  I  who  am  coarse, — horribly  so!  But  I 
am  determined  that  you  shall  hear  my  side  of  the  case. 
You  speak  of  my  brother's  honour.  Do  you  know  how 
Louise  Marshall  behaved  last  year  ?  Do  you  know 
that,  when  that  wretched  old  man  lay  dying,  she  came 
to  Bosworth  House — to  tny  house — and  insisted  on 
seeing  James,  and — and  " —  the  speaker's  voice  broke, 
the  Duchess  could  see  that  she  was  trembling  violently ; 
"Why  do  you  make  me  remember  those  things — those 
horrible  things  which  I  desire  to  forget  ?  " 

Emotion  of  any  sort  is  apt  to  prove  contagious. 
The  Duchess  was  very  sorry  for  her  friend;  but  she 
had  received,  which  Arabella  had  not,  Mrs.  Marshall's 
confidences,  and  then  she  knew,  what  Arabella  evidently 
did  not  know,  how  James  Berwick  was  now  spending 
his  time,  and  what  had  dislodged — or  so  she  believed — • 
Louise  Marshall  from  his  heart.     And  so — 

"As  you  have  spoken  to  me  so  frankly,"  she  said, 
"  I  also  owe  you  the  truth.  Perhaps  I  am  not  so 
really  sorry  for  Louise  as  you  seem  to  think  me,  but, 
during  the  last  few  days,  a  fact  has  come  to  my 
knowledge — I  need  hardly  tell  3'ou  that  I  have  said 
nothing  to  Louise  about  it — which  has  made  me,  I 
must  say,  feel  rather  indignant.  I  asked  you  just  now, 
Arabella,  whether  there  could  be  any  rival  attraction  at 
Chillingworth  ;  that,  I  confess,  was  rather  hypocritical  on 
my  part,  for  there  is  an  attraction — at  Chancton  Priory." 

"At  Chancton  Priory?"  repeated  Miss  Berwick, 
"  why  there's  absolutely  no  one  at  Chancton  Priory ! 
Who  can  you  possibly  mean  ?  '* 


BARBARA   REBELL.  •    195 

All  sorts  of  angry,  suspicious  thoughts  and  fears  swept 
through  her  mind.  As  is  so  often  the  case  with  women 
who  keep  themselves  studiously  aloof  from  any  of  the 
more  unpleasant  facts  of  real  life,  she  was  sometimes  apt 
to  suspect  others  of  ideas  which  to  them  would  have 
been  unthinkable.  She  knew  that  her  friend's  maid 
was  a  niece  of  Madame  Sampiero's  housekeeper.  Was 
it  possible  that  there  had  been  any  gossip  carried  to 
and  fro  as  to  Berwick's  attraction  for  some  rustic  beauty  ? 
Well,  whatever  was  true  of  him,  that  would  never  be 
true.     To  him  temptation  did  not  lie  that  way. 

But  it  was  the  Duchess's  turn  to  look  astonished. 
'*  Do  you  mean,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  have  not 
seen  and  know  nothing  of  Barbara  Sampiero's  cousin, — 
of  this  Mrs.  Rebell,  who  has  been  at  Chancton  for  the 
last  six  weeks,  and  whom,  if  I  judge  rightly  from  the 
very  pathetic  letter  which  poor  dear  Barbara  Sampiero 
dictated  for  me  to  that  old  Scotch  doctor  of  hers,  she  is 
thinking  of  making  her  heiress  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Rebell  ?  " — Miss  Berwick's  tone  was  full  of 
incredulous  relief — "  My  dear  Albinia,  what  an  extra- 
ordinary idea  !  Certainly,  I  have  seen  her.  My  uncle 
made  me  call  the  very  moment  she  arrived,  and  I  never 
met  a  more  apathetic,  miserable-looking  woman,  crone 
more  gauche  and  ill  at  ease." 

"  She  did  not  look  gauche  or  ill  at  ease  at  the 
Whiteways  meet." 

**  Mrs.  Rebell  was  not  at  the  meet,"  said  Arabella 
positively.  "  If  she  had  been,  I  should,  of  course,  have 
seen  her.  Do  you  mean  the  woman  who  was  riding 
Saucebox  ? — that  was  some  friend  of  the  Boringdons." 

It  was  the  Duchess's  turn  to  shrug  her  shoulders  : 
**  But  I  spoke  to  her  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  can't  think 
where  your  eyes  could  have  been.  She's  a  strikingly 
attractive-looking  woman,  with — or  so  I  thought,  when 

o  2 


196  BARBARA   REBELL. 

I  called  on  her  some  ten  days  after  she  arrived  at 
Chancton — a  particularly  gentle  and  self-possessed 
manner." 

"  Oh !  but  you,"  said  Miss  Berwick,  not  very 
pleasantly,  **  always  see  strangers  en  beau.  As  to 
James,  all  I  can  say  is  that  I  only  wish  he  did  admire 
Mrs.  Rebell — that,  at  any  rate,  would  be  quite  safe, 
for  she  is  very  much  married,  and  to  a  relation  of 
Madame  Sampiero." 

"  You  would  wish  James  to  admire  this  Mrs.  Rebell  ? 
Well,  not  so  I  !  To  my  mind  his  doing  so  would  be  a 
most  shocking  thing,  a  gross  abuse  of  hospitality  " — 
and  as  she  saw  that  Miss  Berwick  was  still  smiling 
slightly,  for  the  suggestion  that  her  brother  was 
attracted  to  the  quiet,  oppressed-looking  woman  with 
whom  she  had  spent  so  uncomfortable  a  ten  minutes 
some  weeks  before,  seemed  really  ludicrous — the 
Duchess  got  up  with  a  sudden  movement  of  anger. 
"  Well,  you  will  be  able  to  see  them  together  to-night, 
and  I  think  you  will  change  your  opinion  about  Mrs. 
Rebell,  and  also  agree  with  me  that  James  should  be 
off  with  the  old  love  before  he  is  on  with  the  new  !  " 

**  Albinia  " — Miss  Berwick's  voice  altered,  there  came 
into  it  something  shamed  and  tremulous  in  quality — 
"  Sir  John  Umfraville  has  left  us.  When  it  came  to  the 
point — ^well,  I  found  I  couldn't  do  it." 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  To  the  fair  fields  where  loves  eternal  dwell 
There's  none  that  come,  but  first  they  fare  through  Hell." 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

It  is  wonderful  how  few  mistakes  are  made  by  those 
who  have  the  sending  out  of  invitations  to  a  great 
country  function.  The  wrong  people  are  sometimes 
included,  but  it  rarely  happens  that  the  right  people 
are  left  out. 

Halnakeham  Castle  was  famed  for  its  prodigal 
hospitality,  and  on  such  an  occasion  as  the  coming- 
of-age  ball  of  the  only  son,  the  ducal  invitations  had 
been  scattered  broadcast,  and  not  restricted,  in  any 
sense,  to  those  for  whom  the  word  "  dancing  "  was 
full  of  delightful  significance.  In  Chancton  village 
alone,  Miss  Vipen  could  show  the  Duchess's  card,  and  so 
could  Doctor  McKirdy,  while  both  the  Cottage  and  the 
Vicarage  had  been  bidden  to  bring  a  party. 

This  being  the  case,  it  was  felt  by  Mrs.  Kemp's 
neighbours  to  be  very  strange  and  untoward  that  no 
invitation  had  been  received  at  Chancton  Grange, 
but,  as  so  often  happens,  those  who  were  supposed  to 
be  the  most  disturbed  were  really  the  least  so.  General 
Kemp  and  his  wife  were  not  disposed  to  resent  what 
Miss  Vipen  eagerly  informed  their  daughter  was  a  subtle 
affront,  and  a  very  short  time  after  the  amazing  omission 
became  known,  Lucy  Kemp  received  five  invitations 
to  join  other  people's  parties  for  the  ball,  and  declined 
them  all. 


igS  BARBARA  REBELL. 

Then  came  an  especially  urgent  message  from  Mrs. 
Boringdon,  brought  by  Oliver  himself.  "  Of  course 
you  will  come  with  us,"  he  said  insistently,  "  my 
mother  is  to  have  the  Priory  carriage,  and,"  he  added, 
smiling  as  if  speaking  in  jest,  "  I  will  tell  you  one 
thing  quite  frankly-'-if  you  refuse  to  come,  [  shall  stay 
at  home  1  " 

Lucy  gave  him  a  quick,  rather  painful  glance.  What 
could  he  mean  by  saying  that  to  her  ? — but  Mrs.  Kemp, 
again  dowered  with  that  sixth  sense  sent  as  a  warning 
to  those  mothers  worthy  of  such  aid,  asked  rather 
sharply,  "  Are  you  and  Mrs.  Boringdon  then  going 
alone,  for  Lucy's  father  would  not  wish  her  in  any 
case  to  remain  up  very  late  ?  "  and  Oliver  answered 
at  once,  "  Oh  !  no,  Mrs.  Rebell  will,  of  course,  be 
with  us — in  fact,  in  one  sense  we  are  going  as  her 
guests.  It  is  she  who  is  so  anxious  that  Lucy  should 
come  too,  and  you  need  have  no  fear  as  to  our  staying 
late,  for  we  are  going  especially  early  in  order  to  be 
home  before  one  o'clock."  And  then,  to  Mrs.  Kemp's 
surprise,  Lucy  suddenly  declared  that  she  would  come 
after  all,  and  that  it  was  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Rebell  to 
have  asked  her. 

On  the  great  day,  but  not  till  five  o'clock,  the 
belated  invitation  did  at  last  arrive  at  the  Grange, 
accompanied  by  a  prettily  worded  sentence  or  two 
of  apology  and  explanation  as  to  a  packet  of  un- 
posted cards.  The  General  and  Mrs.  Kemp,  however, 
saw  no  reason  to  change  the  arrangement  which  had 
been  made ;  more  than  once  Mrs.  Boringdon  had 
chaperoned  their  daughter  to  local  entertainments, 
and,  most  potent  reason  of  all,  every  vehicle  in  the 
neighbourhood  had  been  bespoken  for  something  like 
a  fortnight.  If  Lucy's  father  and  mother  wished  to 
grace  the  ducal  ball  with  their  presence,  they  would 


BARBARA   REBELL.  199 

have  to  drive  there  in  their  own  dog-cart,  and  that 
neither  of  them  felt  inclined  to  do  on  a  dark  and 
stormy  November  night,  though  there  were  many  to 
inform  them  that  they  would  not  in  so  doing  find 
themselves  alone  I 

Lucy  Kemp  had  a  strong  wish,  which  she  hardly 
acknowledged  to  herself,  to  see  Mrs.  Rebell  and 
Oliver  Boringdon  together.  The  girl  was  well  aware 
that  Oliver's  manner  to  her  had  first  changed  before 
the  coming  01  this  stranger  to  the  Priory,  but  she 
could  not  help  knowing  that  he  now  saw  a  great 
deal  of  Mrs.  Rebel!.  She  knew  also  that,  thanks  to 
that  lady's  influence,  the  young  man  was  now  free 
to  see  Madame  Sampiero — that  hidden  mysterious 
presence  who,  if  invisible,  yet  so  completely  dominated 
the  village  life  of  Chancton. 

This,  of  course,  was  one  reason  why  he  was  now  so 
often  at  the  Priory.  Indeed,  his  mother  complained 
to  Lucy  that  it  was  so:  "I  suppose  that,  like  most 
afflicted  persons,  Madame  Sampiero  is  very  capricious. 
As  you  know,  in  old  days  she  would  never  see  Oliver, 
and  now  she  expects  him  to  be  always  dancing 
attendance  on  her !  " 

Lucy  implicitly  accepted  this  explanation  of  the 
long  mornings  spent  by  her  old  friend  at  the  Priory; 
but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  in  giving  it,  Mrs. 
Boringdon  had  been  quite  honest.  On  making  Mrs. 
Rebell's  acquaintance,  which  she  had  not  done  till 
Barbara  had  been  at  Chancton  for  some  little  time, 
the  mistress  of  the  Cottage  realised  that  the  Priory 
now  contained  within  its  walls  a  singularly  attractive 
woman. 

The  excuse  which  Boringdon  made,  first  to  himself, 
and  then  to  his  mother,  concerning  Madame  Sampiero's 


200  BARBARA  REBELL. 

renewed  interest  in  village  affairs,  was  one  of  those 
half-truths  more  easily  believed  by  those  who  utter 
them  than  by  those  to  whom  they  are  uttered.  During 
the  fortnight  Mrs.  Boringdon  was  away,  Oliver  spent 
the  greater  part  of  each  day  in  Mrs.  Rebell's  company ; 
the  after-knowledge  of  that  fact,  together  with  his 
avoidance  of  Lucy  Kemp,  made  his  mother  vaguely 
suspicious.  She  also,  therefore,  was  not  sorry  for  the 
opportunity  now  presented  to  her  of  seeing  her  son 
and  Mrs.  Rebell  together,  but  she  would  have  liked 
on  this  occasion  to  be  with  them  alone,  and  not  in 
company  with  Lucy  Kemp. 

In  this  matter,  however,  her  hand  was  forced. 
Boringdon,  when  bringing  his  mother's  note  to  the 
Grange,  told  the  truth,  as  indeed  he  always  did ;  the 
taking  of  Lucy  to  Halnakeham  Castle  was  Mrs.  Rebell's 
own  suggestion,  and  in  making  it  Barbara  honestly 
believed  that  she  would  give  her  good  friend — for  so 
she  now  regarded  Oliver  Boringdon — real  pleasure. 
Also,  she  was  by  no  means  anxious  for  a  drive  spent 
in  the  solitar}'  company  of  this  same  good  friend  and 
his  mother — especially  his  mother.  In  Mrs.  Boringdon, 
Barbara  had  met  with  her  only  disappointment  at 
Chancton.  There  had  arisen  between  the  two  women 
something  very  like  antipathy,  and  more  than  once 
Mrs.  Rebell  had  felt  retrospectively  grateful  to  James 
Berwick  for  having  given  her,  as  he  had  done  the  first 
evening  they  had  spent  together,  a  word  of  warning  as 
to  the  mistress  of  the  cottage. 

Certain  days,  ay  and  certain  hours,  are  apt  to 
remain  vividly  marked,  and  that  without  any  special 
reason  to  make  them  so,  on  the  tablets  of  our  memories. 

Lucy  Kemp  always  remembered,  in  this  especially 
vivid  sense,  not  only  the  coming-of-age  ball  of  Lord 


BARBARA   REBELL.  201 

Pendragon,  but  that  drive  of  little  more  than  half  an 
hour,  spent  for  the  most  part  in  complete  silence  by 
the  occupants  of  the  old-fashioned,  roomy  Priory 
carriage. 

Lucy  and  Oliver,  sitting  with  their  backs  to  the 
horses,  were  in  complete  shadow,  but  the  carriage  lamps 
threw  a  strong,  if  wavering,  light  on  Mrs.  Boringdon 
and  Barbara  Rebell.  For  the  first  time  the  girl  was 
able  to  gaze  unobserved  at  the  woman  who — some 
instinct  told  her — had  come,  even  if  unknowingly, 
between  herself  and  the  man  she  loved. 

Leaning  back  as  far  as  was  possible  in  the  carriage, 
Barbara  had  a  constrained  and  pre-occupied  look. 
She  dreaded  the  festivity  before  her,  fearing  that  an 
accident  might  bring  her  across  some  of  her  unknown 
relations — some  of  the  many  men  and  women  who  had 
long  ago  broken  off  all  connection  with  Richard  Rebell 
and  his  belongings  ;  for  these  people  Richard  Rebell's 
daughter  felt  a  passion  of  dislike  and  distaste. 

Barbara  also  shrank  from  meeting  James  Berwick  in 
that  world  from  which  she  herself  had  always  lived 
apart,  while  belonging  to  it  by  birth  and  breeding ; 
she  found  it  painful  to  imagine  him  set  against  another 
background  than  that  where  she  had  hitherto  seen 
him,  and  she  felt  as  if  their  singular  intimacy  must 
suffer,  when  once  the  solitude  with  which  it  had  become 
encompassed  was  destroyed. 

That  afternoon  there  had  occurred  in  Mrs.  Turke's 
sitting-room  a  curious  little  scene.  Barbara  and 
Berwick  had  gone  in  there  after  lunch,  and  Berwick 
had  amused  both  Mrs.  Rebell  and  his  old  nurse  by 
telling  them  sornething  of  the  elaborate  preparations 
which  were  being  made  at  Halnakeham  Castle  for  the 
great  ball.  Suddenly  the  housekeeper  had  suggested, 
with    one    of   her    half -sly,     half-jovial    looks,     that 


202  BARBARA   REBELL; 

Mrs.  Rebell  should,  there  and  then,  go  and  put  on 
her  ball-dress — the  beautiful  gown  which  had  arrived 
the  day  before  from  Paris,  and  which  had  already  been 
tried  on  by  her  in  Madame  Sampiero's  presence. 

For  a  moment,  Barbara  had  not  wholly  understood 
what  was  being  required  of  her,  and  Mrs.  Turke  mistook 
the  reason  for  her  hesitation :  "  La,  ma'am,  you  need 
not  be  afraid  that  your  shoulders  won't  bear  daylight — 
why,  they're  milky  white,  and  as  dimpled  as  a  baby's, 
Mr.  James  !  "  And  then,  understanding  at  last  the  old 
woman's  preposterous  suggestion,  and  meeting  the 
sudden  flame  in  Berwick's  half-abashed,  wholly  plead- 
ing eyes,  Barbara  had  felt  inexplicably  humiliated — 
stripped  of  her  feminine  dignity.  True,  Berwick  had 
at  once  altered  his  attitude  and  had  affected  to  treat 
Mrs.  Turke's  notion  as  a  poor  joke,  quickly  speaking 
of  some  matter  which  he  knew  would  be  of  absorbing 
interest  to  his  old  nurse. 

But  even  so  Mrs.  Rebell,  sitting  there  in  the  darkness, 
felt  herself  flush  painfully  as  she  remembered  the  old 
housekeeper's  shrewd,  appraising  look,  and  as  she  again 
saw  Berwick's  ardent  eyes  meeting  and  falling  before 
her  own  shrinking  glance. 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  shall  have  a  really  pleasant 
evening"  —  Mrs.  Boringdon's  gentle,  smooth  voice 
struck  across  the  trend  of  Barbara's  thoughts.  **  It 
is  certain  to  be  a  terrible  crush — the  Duke  and  Duchess 
seem  to  have  asked  everybody.  Even  Doctor  McKirdy 
is  coming!  I  suppose  he  will  drive  over  in  sohtary 
state  in  one  of  the  other  Prior}'  carriages?  " 

Mrs.  Rebell  stiffened  into  attention  :  *'  No,"  she  said, 
rather  distantly,  "  Doctor  McKirdy  is  going  to  the 
Castle  with  a  certain  Doctor  Robertson  who  lives  at 
Halnakeham."     Here  Oliver  interposed —    "  Robertson 


BARBARA   REBELL.  203 

is  one  of  the  Halnakeham  doctors,  and,  like  McKirdy 
himself,  a  bachelor  and  a  Scotchman ;  he  is,  therefore, 
the  only  medical  man  hereabouts  whom  our  friend 
honours  with  his  intimate  acquaintance." 

And  then  again  silence  fell  upon  the  group  of  ill- 
assorted  fellow  travellers. 

One  of  the  long  low  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of  the 
Castle,  a  portion  of  the  kitchens  and  commons  in  the 
old  days  when  Halnakeham  was  a  Saxon  stronghold, 
was  now  turned  into  a  cloak-room  and  dressing-room. 
There  it  was  that  Lucy  and  Mrs.  Boringdon — animated 
by  very  different  feelings — watched,  with  discreet 
curiosity,  their  companion  emerging  from  the  long 
black  cloak  which  concealed  her  gown  as  effectually  as 
if  it  had  been  a  domino. 

Some  eyes,  especially  when  they  are  gazing  at  a 
human  being,  only  obtain  a  general  agreeable  or  dis- 
agreeable impression,  while  others  have  a  natural  gift 
for  detail.  To  Lucy  Kemp,  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Rebell, 
standing  rather  rigidly  upright  before  a  long  mirror  set 
into  the  stone  wall,  presented  a  quite  unexpected  vision 
of  charm  and  feminine  distinction.  But,  even  after 
having  seen  Barbara  for  a  whole  evening,  the  girl  could 
not  have  described  in  detail,  as  Mrs.  Boringdon  could 
have  done  after  the  first  quick  enveloping  glance,  the 
dress  which  certainly  enhanced  and  intensified  the 
wearer's  rather  fragile  beauty.  The  older  and  keener 
eyes  at  once  took  note  of  the  white  silk  skirt,  draped 
with  festoons  of  lace  caught  up  at  intervals  with  knots 
of  dark  green  velvet  and  twists  of  black  tulle — of  the 
swathed  bodice  encrusted  with  sprays  of  green  gems, 
from  which  emerged  the  white,  dimpled  shoulders 
which  had  been  so  much  admired  by  Mrs.  Turke,  and 
which  Barbara  had  inherited  from  her  lovely  mother. 


204  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Gazing  at  the  figure  before  her  with  an  appreciation 
of  its  singular  charm  far  more  envious  than  that  bestowed 
on  it  by  Lucy  Kemp,  Mrs.  Boringdon  was  speculating 
as  to  the  emeralds — might  they  not,  after  all,  be  only  fine 
old  paste  ? — which  formed  the  kit  motif  of  the  costume. 

"  Paris  ?  "  Mrs.  Boringdon's  suave  voice  uttered  the 
word — the  question — with  respect. 

Barbara  started :  "  Yes,  Peters.  My  god-mother  has 
gone  to  him  for  years.  He  once  made  her  a  gown  very 
like  this,  in  fact  trimmed  with  this  same  lace," — Mrs. 
Rebell  hesitated — "  and  of  the  same  general  colouring. 
I  am  so  glad  you  like  it :  I  do  think  it  really  very 
pretty  !  " 

And  then,  suddenly  looking  up  and  seeing  the  vision 
of  herself  and  her  dress  in  the  mirror,  again  the  memory 
of  that  little  scene  in  Mrs.  Turke's  sitting-room  came 
over  Barbara  in  a  flash  of  humiliation.  Now,  in  a 
moment,  she  would  see  Berwick — Berwick  would  see 
her,  and  a  vivid  blush  covered  her  face  and  neck  with 
flaming  colour. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  the  bodice  is — is — cut  oddly 
off  the  shoulders  ?  "  she  said,  rather  appealingly. 

"  Oh !  no — quite  in  the  French  way,  of  course,  but 
very  becoming  to  you."  Mrs.  Boringdon  spoke 
amiably,  but  her  mind  was  condemning  Madame 
Sampiero  for  lending  fine  old  lace  and  priceless  jewels 
to  one  so  situated  as  was  Barbara  Rebell.  It  was  such 
a  mistake — such  ill-judged  kindness !  No  wonder  the 
woman  before  her  had  reddened  when  admitting,  as  she 
had  just  tacitly  done,  that  the  splendid  gems  encrusted 
on  her  bodice  were  only  borrowed  plumes. 

"  You  will  have  to  be  careful  when  dancing,"  she 
said,  rather  coldly,  "  or  some  of  those  beautiful  stones 
may  become  loosened  and  drop  out  of  their  setting." 
Barbara  looked  at  her  and  answered  quickly — "  I  do 


BARBARA   REBELL.  205 

not  mean  to  dance  to-night," — but  she  felt  the  touch  of 
critical  enmity  in  the  older  woman's  voice,  and  it  added 
to  her  depression.  Instinctively  she  turned  for  a  word 
of  comfort  to  Lucy  Kemp. 

In  her  white  tulle  skirt  and  plain  satin  bodice,  the 
girl  looked  very  fresh  and  pretty :  she  was  smiling — the 
very  sight  of  the  lovely  frock  before  her  had  given  her 
a  joyous  thrill  of  anticipation.  Lucy  had  never  been  to 
a  great  ball,  and  she  was  beginning  to  look  forward  to 
the  experience.  *'  Oh !  but  you  must  dance  to-night, 
mother  says  that  at  such  a  ball  as  this  everybody 
dances !  "  The  other  shook  her  head,  but  it  pleased 
her  to  think  that  she  had  been  instrumental  in  bringing 
this  pretty,  kind  young  creature  to  a  place  which, 
whatever  it  had  in  store  for  her — Barbara — could  only 
give  Lucy  unclouded  delight. 

Walking  with  stately  steps  up  the  great  staircase  of 
Halnakeham  Castle,  Mrs.  Boringdon  became  at  once 
conscious  that  her  party  had  arrived  most  unfashionably 
early,  and  she  felt  annoyed  with  Mrs.  Rebell  for  having 
brought  about  so  regrettable  a  contretemps.  While 
apparently  gazing  straight  before  her,  she  noticed  that 
her  present  fellow-guests  were  in  no  sense  representative 
of  the  county ;  they  evidently  consisted  of  folk,  who, 
like  Barbara,  had  known  no  better,  and  had  taken  the 
ducal  invitation  as  literally  meaning  that  the  Duchess 
expected  her  guests  to  arrive  at  half-past  nine ! 

Mrs.  Boringdon  accordingly  made  her  progress  as 
slow  as  she  could,  while  Lucy,  just  behind  her,  looked 
about  and  enjoyed  the  animated  scene.  The  girl  felt 
happier  than  she  had  done  for  a  long  time;  Oliver's 
manner  had  again  become  full  of  affectionate  intimacy, 
and  she  had  experienced  an  instinctive  sense  of  relief  in 
witnessing  Mrs.  Rebell's  manner  to  him.     A  woman, 


2o6  BARBARA  REBELL. 

even  one  so  young  as  Lucy  Kemp,  does  not  mistake  a 
rival's  manner  to  the  man  she  loves. 

At  last,  thanks  to  a  little  manoeuvre  on  the  part  of 
the  older  lady,  she  and  Lucy,  w^ith,  of  course,  her 
son,  became  separated  from  Mrs.  Rebell.  Barbara 
was  soon  well  in  front,  speeding  up  the  staircase  with 
the  light  sliding  gait  Oliver  so  much  admired,  and 
forming  part  of,  though  in  no  sense  merged  in,  the 
stream  of  rather  awe-struck  folk  about  her. 

The  kindly  Duchess,  standing  a  little  in  front  of  a 
brilliant,  smiling  group  of  men  and  women,  stood 
receiving  her  guests  on  the  landing  which  formed  a 
vestibule  to  the  long  gallery  leading  to  the  ball-room. 
There  came  a  moment  when  Barbara  Rebell — so 
Boringdon  felt — passed  out  of  the  orbit  of  those  with 
whom  she  had  just  had  the  silent  drive,  and  became 
absorbed  into  that  stationary  little  island  of  people  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase.  More,  as  he  and  his  mother 
shook  hands  with  the  Duchess,  he  saw  that  the  woman 
who  now  filled  his  heart  and  mind  to  the  exclusion  of 
almost  everything  else,  was  standing  rather  in  the  back- 
ground, between  James  Berwick  and  an  old  gentleman 
whom  he,  Oliver  Boringdon,  had  long  known  and 
always  disliked,  a  certain  Septimus  Daman  who  knew 
everyone  and  was  asked  everywhere. 

Down  on  Mr.  Daman — for  he  was  very  short  and 
stout — Mrs.  Rebell  was  now  gazing  with  her  whole 
soul  in  her  eyes ;  and  to-night  old  Septimus  found 
that  his  one-time  friendship  with  poor  forgotten 
Richard  Rebell  conferred  the  pleasant  privilege  of 
soft  looks  and  kindly  words  from  one  of  the  most 
attractive  women  present.  To  do  him  justice,  virtue 
was  in  this  case  rewarded,  for  Septimus  Daman  had 
ever  been  one  of  the  few  who  had  remained  actively 
faithful  to  the  Rebells  in  their  sad  disgrace,  and  when 


BARBARA    RELL.  207 

Barbara  was  a  little  girl  he  had  brought  her  many  a 
pretty  toy  on  his  frequent  visits  to  his  friends  in  their 
exile. 

But  of  all  this  Boringdon  could  know  nothing,  and, 
like  most  men,  he  felt  unreasonably  annoyed  when  the 
woman  whom  he  found  so  charming  charmed  others 
beside  himself.  That  Mrs.  Rebell  should  exert  her 
powers  of  pleasing  on  Madame  Sampiero  and  on  old 
Doctor  McKirdy  had  seemed  reasonable  enough, — 
especially  when  she  had  done  so  on  his  behalf, — but 
here,  at  Halnakeham  Castle,  he  could  have  wished  her 
to  be,  as  Lucy  evidently  was,  rather  over-awed  by  the 
occasion,  and  content  to  remain  under  his  mother's 
wing.  In  his  heart,  he  even  found  fault  with  Barbara's 
magnificent  dress.  It  looked  different,  so  he  told  him- 
self, from  those  worn  by  the  other  women  present  : 
and  as  he  walked  down  the  long  gallery — every  step 
taking  him,  as  he  was  acutely  conscious  it  did,  further 
away  from  her  in  whom  he  now  found  something  to 
condemn — his  eyes  rested  on  Lucy's  simple  frock  witli 
gloomy  approval. 

**  Mrs.  Rebell's  gown  ?  "  he  said  with  a  start,  "  no, 
I  can't  agree  with  you — Frankly,  I  don't  like  it !  Oh! 
yes,  it  may  have  come  from  Paris,  and  I  dare  say  it's 
very  elaborate,  but  I  never  like  anything  that  makes  a 
lady  look  conspicuous  !  " 

So,  out  of  the  soreness  of  his  heart,  Oliver  instructed 
Lucy  as  to  the  whole  duty  of  woman. 

To  the  Duchess,  this  especial  group  of  guests  was  full 
of  interest,  and — if  only  Mrs.  Boringdon  had  known  it 
— she  felt  quite  grateful  to  them  all  for  coming  so  early  ! 
On  becoming  aware  of  Mrs.  Rebell's  approach,  she  was 
woman  enough  to  feel  a  moment's  keen  regret  that 
Arabella  Berwick  was  not  there  to  see  the  person  whom 


2o8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

she  had  called  gauche  and  insignificant,  coming  up 
the  red-carpeted  staircase.  Even  the  Duke  had  been 
impressed  and  interested,  but  rather  cross  with  himself 
for  not  knowing  who  it  was,  for  he  prided  himself  on 
knowing  ever}body  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  Who's  this  coming  up  alone  ?  "  he  asked,  touching 
his  wife's  elbow. 

**  Poor  Richard  Rebell's  daughter — I  told  you  all 
about  her  the  other  day.  Barbara  Sampiero  seems  to 
be  going  to  adopt  her;  don't  you  see  she's  wearing 
the  Rebell  emeralds  ?  Remember  that  you  saw  and 
spoke  to  her  at  Whiteways ! " 

"  Bless  me,  so  I  did  to  be  sure  !  She  looked  un- 
commonly well  then,  but  nothing  to  what  she  does 
now,  eh  ?  " 

And  so  it  was  that  Barbara  successfully  ran  the 
gauntlet  of  both  kind  and  indifferent  eyes,  and  finally 
found  herself  absorbed  into  the  group  of  people  standing 
behind  her  host  and  hostess. 

Then  the  Duchess  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Boringdon  and 
her  son,  treating  them  with  peculiar  graciousness  simply 
because  for  the  moment  she  could  not  remember  who 
they  were  or  anything  about  them !  She  felt  sure  she 
had  seen  this  tall  dark  man  before — probably  in  London. 
He  looked  rather  cross  and  very  stiff.  A  civil  word 
was  said  to  Lucy  and  an  apology  tendered  for  the 
mistake  made  about  the  invitation.  "  Let  me  see," 
the  speaker  was  thinking,  "  this  pretty  little  girl  is  to 
marry  Squire  Laxton's  soldier  cousin,  isn't  she  ?  Pen 
must  be  told  to  dance  with  her." 

An  hour  later;  not  eleven  o'clock,  and  yet,  to  the 
Duchess's  infinite  relief,  every  guest — with  the  import- 
ant exception  of  the  Fletchings  party — had  arrived. 
She  was  now  free  to  rest  her  tired  right  hand,  and  to 


BARBARA  REBELL.  309 

look  after  the  pleasure  of  those  among  her  guests  who 
might  feel  shy  or  forlorn.  But,  as  the  kind  hostess  filled 
up  one  of  the  narrow  side  doors  into  the  ball-room,  she 
saw  that  everything  seemed  to  be  going  well.  Even 
Louise  Marshall,  to  whom  the  Duchess  had  spoken 
very  seriously  just  before  dinner,  appeared  on  the  whole 
to  be  leaving  James  Berwick  alone,  and  to  have  regained 
something  of  her  power  of  judicious  flirtation.  She 
looked  very  lovely ;  it  was  pleasant  to  have  some- 
thing so  decorative,  even  if  so  foolish,  about  1  Too  bad 
of  Lord  Bosworth  to  be  so  late,  but  then  he  was  privi- 
leged, and  a  cordon  of  intelligent  heralds  had  been 
established  to  announce  his  approach ;  once  the 
Fletchings  carriages  drew  up  at  the  great  doors,  the 
Duchess  would  again  take  up  her  stand  at  the  top  of 
the  staircase. 

Lucy  Kemp  was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself.  Had 
she  cared  to  do  so  she  could  have  danced  every  dance 
twice  over — in  fact,  she  would  willingly  have  spared 
some  of  the  attention  she  received  from  the  young  men 
of  the  neighbourhood,  the  sons  of  the  local  squires  and 
clergy,  who  all  liked  her,  and  were  glad  to  dance  with  her. 

Oliver  seemed  to  have  gone  back  to  his  old  self.  He 
and  Lucy — though  standing  close  to  Mrs.  Boringdon 
and  an  old  lady  with  whom  she  had  settled  down 
for  a  long  talk — were  practically  alone.  Both  felt  as  if 
they  were  meeting  for  the  first  time  after  a  long  acci- 
dental absence,  and  so  had  much  to  say  to  one  another. 
Mrs.  Rebell's  name  was  not  once  mentioned, — why 
indeed  should  it  have  been  ?  so  Lucy  asked  herself  when, 
later,  during  the  days  that  followed,  she  went  over  every 
word  of  that  long,  intermittent  conversation.  Their 
talk  was  all  about  Oliver's  own  affairs — especially  they 
discussed  in  all  its  bearings  that  important  by-election 
which  was  surely  coming  on. 

B.R.  p 


210  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Then  something  occurred  which  completed,  and,  as 
it  were,  rounded  off  Lucy's  joy  and  contentment. 
James  Berwick  made  his  way  across  the  vast  room, 
now  fall  of  spinning  couples,  to  the  recess  where  they 
were  both  standing,  and  at  once  began  talking  earnestly 
to  Oliver,  tacitly  including  the  girl  by  his  side  in  the  con- 
versation. At  the  end  of  the  eager,  intimate  discussion, 
he  turned  abruptly  to  Lucy  and  asked  her  to  dance  with 
him,  and  she,  flushing  with  pleasure,  perceived  that 
Boringdon  was  greatly  pleased  and  rather  surprised  by 
his  friend's  action.  As  for  herself,  she  felt  far  more 
flattered  than  when  the  same  civility — for  so  Lucy,  in 
her  humility,  considered  it — had  been  paid  her  earlier 
in  the  evening  by  the  hero  of  the  day,  shy  Lord 
Pendragon  himself.  That  Berwick  could  not  dance 
at  all  well  made  the  compliment  all  the  greater ! 

And  Barbara  Rebell  ?  Barbara  was  not  enjoying 
herself  at  all.  It  has  become  a  truism  to  say  that 
solitude  in  a  crowd  is  the  most  trying  of  all  ordeals. 
In  one  sense,  Mrs.  Rebell  was  not  left  a  moment 
solitary,  for  both  the  Duke  and  the  Duchess  took  especial 
pains  to  introduce  her  to  those  notabilities  of  the 
neighbourhood  whom  they  knew  Madame  Sampiero 
was  so  eager,  so  pathetically  anxious,  that  her  god- 
daughter should  know  and  impress  favourably.  But, 
as  the  evening  went  on,  she  felt  more  and  more  that  she 
had  no  real  link  with  these  happy  people  about  her. 
Even  when  listening,  with  moved  heart,  to  old  Mr. 
Daman's  reminiscences  of  those  far-off  days  at  St. 
Germains,  when  his  coming  had  meant  a  delightful  holi- 
day for  the  lonely  little  English  girl  to  whom  he  was 
so  kind,  she  felt  curiously,  nay  horribly,  alone. 

With  a  feeling  of  bewildered  pain,  she  gradually 
became  aware  that  James  Berwick,  without  appearing 


BARBARA   REBELL.  211 

to  do  so,  avoided  finding  himself  in  her  company.  She 
saw  him  talking  eagerly,  first  to  this  woman,  and  then 
to  that ;  at  one  moment  bending  over  the  armchair  of 
an  important  dowager,  and  then  dancing — yes,  actually 
dancing — with  Lucy  Kemp.  She  also  could  not  help 
observing  that  he  was  very  often  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  woman  who,  Barbara  acknowledged  to  herself, 
was  the  beauty  of  the  ball,  a  certain  Mrs.  Marshall, 
whose  radiant  fairness  was  enhanced  by  a  black  tulle 
and  jet  gown,  and  who  was — so  Mr.  Daman  informed 
her  with  a  chuckle — but  a  newly-made  widow.  And  in 
truth  something  seemed  to  hold  Berwick,  as  if  by 
magic,  to  the  floor  of  the  ball-room.  He  did  not 
wander  off,  as  did  everybody  else,  either  alone  or  in 
company,  to  any  of  the  pretty  side-rooms  which  had 
been  arranged  for  sitting  out,  or  into  the  long,  book- 
lined  gallery ;  and  yet  Mrs.  Rebell  had  now  and  again 
caught  his  glance  fixed  on  her,  his  eyes  studiously 
emptied  of  expression.  To  avoid  that  strange  alien 
gaze,  she  had  retreated  more  than  once  into  the 
gallery,  but  the  ball-room  seemed  to  draw  her  also,  or 
else  her  companions — the  shadow-like  men  and  women 
who  seemed  to  be  brought  up  to  her  in  an  endless  pro- 
cession, and  to  whom  she  heard  herself  saying  she 
hardly  knew  what — were  in  a  conspiracy  to  force  her 
back  to  where  she  could  not  help  seeing  Berwick. 

Oh  !  how  ardently  Barbara  wished  that  the  evening 
would  draw  to  a  close.  It  was  good  to  remember  that 
Mrs.  Boringdon  and  Lucy  had  both  expressed  a  strong 
desire  to  leave  early.  Soon  her  martyrdom,  for  so  in  truth 
it  was,  would  cease,  and  so  also,  with  this  experience — 
this  sudden  light  thrown  down  into  the  depths  of  her  own 
heart— would  cease  her  intimacy  with  James  Berwick. 

The  anguish  she  felt  herself  enduring  frightened  her. 
What  right  had  this  man,  who  was  after  all  but  a  friend 

P  3 


2ia  BARBARA  REBELL. 

and  a  friend  of  short  standing,  to  make  her  feel  this 
intolerable  pain,  and,  what  was  to  such  a  nature  as  hers 
more  bitter,  such  humiliation  ?  There  assailed  her  that 
instinct  of  self-preservation  which  makes  itself  felt  in 
certain  natures,  even  in  the  rarefied  atmosphere  of 
exalted  passion.  She  must,  after  to-night,  save  herself 
from  the  possible  repetition  of  such  feelings  as  those 
which  now  possessed  her.  She  told  herself  that  those 
past  afternoons  and  evenings  of  close,  often  wordless, 
communion  and  intimacy  yet  gave  her  no  lien  on  James 
Berwick's  heart,  no  right  even  to  his  attention. 

Sitting  there,  with  Mr.  Daman  babbling  in  her  ear, 
mocking  ghosts,  evil  memories,  crowded  round  poor 
Barbara.  She  remembered  the  first  time — the  only 
time  that  really  mattered — when  she  had  been  told,  she 
herself  would  never  have  suspected  or  discovered  it,  of 
Pedro  Rebell's  infidelity,  of  his  connection  with  one  of 
their  own  coloured  people,  and  the  passion  of  outraged 
pride  and  disgust  which  had  possessed  her,  wedded  to  a 
sense  of  awful  loneliness.  Even  to  herself  it  seemed 
amazing  that  she  should  be  suffering  now  much  as  she 
had  suffered  during  that  short  West  Indian  night  five 
years  ago.  Nay,  she  was  now  suffering  more,  for  then 
there  had  not  been  added  to  her  other  miseries  that 
feeling  of  soreness  and  sense  of  personal  loss. 

'*  Are  you  enjoying  yourself.  Doctor  McKirdy  ? " 
His  hostess  was  smiling  into  the  old  Scotchman's  face. 
She  had  seen  with  what  troubled  interest  his  eyes  followed 
Mrs.  Rebell  and  James  Berwick — the  Duchess  would  have 
given  much  to  have  been  able  to  ask  the  doctor  what  he 
really  thought  about  — well,  about  many  things, — but 
her  courage  failed  her.  As  he  hesitated  she  bent  for- 
ward and  whispered,  "  Don't  say  that  it's  a  splendid 
sight ;  you  and  I  know  what  it  is — a  perfect  danjamfray  I 


BARBARA   REBELL.  213 

Confess  that  it  is  !  "  and  as  Doctor  McKirdy's  ugly  face 
became  filled  with  the  spirit  of  laughter,  the  Duchess 
added,  "  You  see  I  didn't  have  a  Scotch  mother  for 
nothing !  " 

And  Mrs.  Boringdon,  watching  the  little  colloquy 
with  a  good  deal  of  wonderment,  marvelled  that  her 
Grace  could  demean  herself  to  laugh  and  joke  with  such 
an  insufferable  nobody  as  she  considered  Doctor 
McKirdy  to  be  1 


CHAPTER  XII. 

**  Que  vous  me  cofitez  cher,  6  mon  cceur,  pour  vos  plalslrs  1  * 

CoMTESSE  Diane. 

"Will  you  please  introduce  me  to  the  lady  with 
whom  Mr.  Daman  has  been  talking  all  the  evening  ?  I 
have  something  I  very  much  want  to  ask  her,  and  I 
don't  wish  to  say  it  before  that  horrid  old  man,  so  will 
you  take  him  aside  while  I  speak  to  her  ?  " 

Louise  Marshall  was  standing  before  James  Berwick. 
She  looked  beautiful,  animated,  good-humoured  as  he 
had  not  seen  her  look  for  a  very  long  time,  and  the 
plaintive,  rather  sulky  tone  in  which  she  had  lately 
always  addressed  him  was  gone.  There  are  women  on 
whom  the  presence  of  a  crowd,  the  atmosphere  of 
violent  admiration,  have  an  extraordinary  tonic  effect. 
To-night,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  become  a 
widow,  Mrs.  Marshall  felt  that  life,  even  without  James 
Berwick,  might  conceivably  be  worth  living ;  but  unfor- 
tunately for  himself,  the  man  to  whom  she  had  just 
addressed  what  he  felt  to  be  so  disquieting  a  request, 
did  not  divine  her  thoughts.  Instead,  suspicions — each 
one  more  hateful  than  the  other — darted  through  his 
mind,  and  so,  for  only  answer  to  her  words  he  looked 
at  her  uncertainly,  saying  at  last,  "  You  mean  Mrs. 
Rebell  ?  " 

She  bent  her  head ;  they  were  standing  close  to  the 
band,  and  it  was  difficult  to  hear,  but  he  realized  that 
she  had  some  purpose  in  her  mind,  and  there  shone  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  215 

same   eager  good-tempered  smile  on  the  face  which 
others  thought  so  lovely. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  will  take  you  across  to  her," 
and  slowly  they  skirted  the  walls  of  the  great  room,  now 
filled  with  movement,  music,  and  colour. 

Up  to  the  last  moment,  Berwick  had  seriously 
thought  of  escaping  the  ordeal  of  this  evening.  The 
mere  presence  of  Louise  Marshall  in  his  neighbourhood 
induced  in  him  a  sense  of  repulsion  and  of  self-reproach 
with  which  he  hardly  knew  how  to  cope  in  his 
present  state  of  body  and  mind.  And  now  had  come 
the  last  day.  Escape  was  in  sight ;  not  with  his  good 
will  would  he  ever  again  find  himself  under  the  same 
roof  with  her — indeed,  in  any  case  he  was  actually  going 
back  to  Chillingworth  that  very  night.  Wisdom  had 
counselled  him  to  avoid  the  ball,  but  the  knowledge 
that  Mrs.  Rebell  would  be  there  had  made  him  throw 
wisdom  to  the  winds.  Why  spend  hours  in  solitude  at 
Chillingworth  while  he  might  be  looking  at  Barbara — 
talking  to  Barbara — listening  to  Barbara  ? 

But  when  it  came  to  the  point  Berwick  found  that 
he  had  over-estimated  the  robustness  of  his  own  con- 
science. From  the  moment  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Rebell 
coming  up  the  broad  staircase  of  Halnakeham  Castle, 
he  had  realised  his  folly  in  not  following  the  first  and 
wisest  of  his  instincts.  Although  the  two  women  were 
entirely  different  in  colouring,  in  general  expression, 
indeed  in  everything  except  in  age,  there  seemed  to- 
night, at  least  to  his  unhappy,  memory-haunted  eyes, 
something  about  Barbara  which  recalled  Mrs.  Marshall, 
while  in  Mrs.  Marshall  there  seemed,  now  and  again, 
something  of  Barbara.  So  strong  was  this  impression 
that  at  last  the  resemblance  became  to  Berwick  an  acute 
obsession — in  each  woman  he  saw  the  other,  and  as 


2i6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

the  evening  went  on,  he  avoided  as  far  as  possible  the 
company  of  both. 

Now  it  had  become  his  hateful  business  to  serve  as 
a  link  between  them. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Marshall  looked  at  Barbara,  then 
smilingly  shook  her  head.  "  A  string  band  would  have 
been  so  much  nicer,  don't  you  think  so,  but  the  Duke 
believes  in  encouraging  local  talent.  I  wonder  if  you 
would  mind  coming  out  here  for  a  moment — it  is  so 
much  quieter  in  there — and  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  me 
such  a  favour !  " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  she  led  the  way  from  the  ball- 
room into  one  of  the  book-lined  embrasures  of  the  long, 
now  almost  deserted,  gallery,  and  Barbara,  wondering, 
followed  her. 

Louise  Marshall  put  on  her  prettiest  manner.  "  I 
do  hope  you  won't  think  me  rude,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am 
so  very  anxious  to  know  if  your  beautiful  gown  came 
from  Adolphe  Peters  ?  I  do  not  know  if  you  have 
noticed  it,  but  of  course  I  saw  it  at  once, — there's  a 
certain  family  likeness  between  my  frock  and  yours  ! 
They  say,  you  know,  that  Peters  can  only  think  out  one 
really  good  original  design  every  season — but  then,  when 
he  has  thought  it  out,  how  good  it  is  !  " 

Mrs.  Marshall  spoke  with  a  kind  of  sacred  enthusiasm. 
To  her,  dress  had  always  been,  everything  considered, 
the  greatest  and  most  absorbing  interest  of  life. 

After  having  received  the  word  of  assent  she  sought, 
she  hurried  on,  "  Of  course,  I  felt  quite  sure  of  it !  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  he  has  followed  out  the  same  general 
idea — la  ligne,  as  he  calls  it — in  my  frock  as  in  yours. 
Several  times  this  evening,  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
how  awful  it  would  have  been  if  our  two  gowns  had 
been  exactly  alike  !     I  am  probably  going  to  India  very 


BARBARA   REBELL.  217 

soon  " — Mrs.  Marshall  lowered  her  voice,  for  she  had  no 
wish  that  Berwick,  who  was  standing  a  few  paces  off, 
his  miserable  eyes  fixed  on  the  two  women  while  he 
talked  to  Septimus  Daman,  should  thus  learn  the  great 
news, — "  but  I  shall  be  in  Paris  for  a  few  days,  and  I 
have  been  wondering  if  you  would  mind  my  asking 
Peters  to  make  me  a  gown  exactly  like  yours,  only  of  grey 
silk  instead  of  white,  and  with  mauve  velvet  bows  and 
white  tulle  instead  of  green  and  black — that  mauve," 
she  added  eagerly,  "  which  is  almost  pale  blue,  while 
yet  quite  mourning  !  Well,  would  you  mind  my  telling 
him  that  I  have  seen  your  dress  ?  " 

**  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Barbara  with  some  wonder- 
ment. "  But  I  think  that  you  should  say  that  the 
gown  in  question  was  that  made  to  the  order  of 
Madame  Sampiero  ;  he  won't  remember  my  name." 

"  Thanks  so  much  !  Madame  Sampiero  ?  Oh  1  yes, 
I  know — I  quite  understand.  Are  you  a  niece  of  hers  ? 
Oh  !  only  a  god-daughter,  that's  a  comfort,  for  thenyou 
need  never  be  afraid  of  becoming  like  her," — a  look  of 
very  real  fear  came  over  the  lovely,  mindless  face, — 
**  I've  often  heard  about  her,  and  the  awful  state  she's 
in  !  Isn't  it  a  frightful  thing  ?  Do  you  think  people 
are  punished  for  the  wicked  things  they  do, — I  mean, 
of  course,  in  this  life  ?  " 

Barbara  stared  at  her,  this  time  both  amazed  and 
angered.  "Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I  am  afraid  one 
cannot  live   long   in   this  world  and  not  believe  that, 

but— but " 

Mrs.  Marshall,  however,  gave  her  no  time  to  speak, 
and  indeed  Barbara  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  put 
into  words  what  she  wished  to  convey  concerning  the 
courage,  aye,  the  essential  nobility,  of  the  poor  paralysed 
woman  whom  she  had  come  to  love  so  dearly. 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  staying  here  during  the  last 


2i8  BARBARA   REBELL 

few  days,  I'm  sure  we  should  have  become  great 
friends."  The  speaker  took  a  last  long  considering 
look  at  Barbara's  bodice.  "  Your  black  tulle  is  dodged 
in  and  out  so  cleverly,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  regret, 
"  mine  is  not  twisted  half  so  well,  it  looks  more 
lumpy  " — without  any  change  of  tone  she  added,  "  Since 
you  are  Madame  Sampiero's  god-daughter,  I  suppose 
you  have  known  James  Berwick  quite  a  long  time,  as 
he  is  Lord  Bosworth's  nephew." 

**  But  I  have  never  seen,  and  do  not  know.  Lord 
Bosworth,"  Barbara  spoke  rather  stiffly. 

"  How  very  strange  !  But  you  know  he  is  expected 
here  to-night.  He's  a  dear,  splendid  old  thing,  always 
particularly  nice  to  me.  But  there  he  is  ! — there  they 
all  are  —  the  whole  Fletchings  party,  —  coming  in 
now !  " 

Barbara  turned  eagerly  round.  She  was  intensely 
desirous  of  seeing  Lord  Bosworth,  and  she  fixed  her 
eyes,  with  ardent  curiosity,  on  the  group  of  figures  slowly 
advancing  down  the  gallery. 

Slightly  in  front  of  the  others  came  the  Duchess,  and 
by  her  side  paced  a  tall,  large-framed  man ;  now  he  was 
bending  towards  his  companion,  listening  to  what  she 
was  telling  him  with  amused  interest.  The  Duke  and 
Arabella  Berwick  walked  just  behind  them,  and  some 
half-do2en  men  and  women  ended  the  little  cortege. 

Men  wear  Court  dress  with  a  difference.  To  Lord 
Bosworth,  the  velvet  coat,  the  knee-breeches,  and 
silk  stockings,  lent  an  almost  majestic  dignity  of 
deportment.  The  short  stout  Duke,  trotting  just 
behind  him,  looked  insignificant,  over-shadowed  by 
the  larger  figure — indeed,  even  the  Garter  gracing  the 
ducal  leg  seemed  of  no  account  when  seen  in  con- 
trast with  the  red  riband  of  the  Bath  crossing  Lord 
Bosworth's  stalwart  chest. 


BARBARA  REBELL.  219 

As  the  procession  came  nearer,  Barbara  saw  that  the 
man  in  whom  she  took  so  great  an  interest  still  looked 
full  of  the  pride  of  life,  and  just  now  his  large  powerful 
face  was  lighted  up  by  a  broad  smile.  His  curling 
grey  hair  had  receded,  leaving  a  large  expanse  of  broad 
forehead,  and  the  shaggy  eyebrows,  which  were  darker 
than  his  hair,  overhung  two  singularly  shrewd  grey 
eyes.  Thanks  to  the  many  months  of  each  year  now 
spent  by  him  in  the  country — thanks  also  to  the  excel- 
lent care  taken  of  him  by  his  niece — Lord  Bosworth's 
face  was  ruddy  with  the  glow  so  easily  mistaken  for 
that  of  health.  Of  the  many  who  looked  on  him  that 
night,  marvelling  at  the  old  statesman's  air  of  robust 
power,  and  inclined  perhaps  to  criticise  his  long  retire- 
ment from  public  affairs — for  he  had  been  one  of  the 
most  successful,  and  therefore  one  of  the  most  popular, 
Foreign  Ministers  of  his  generation — only  two  people — 
that  is  he  himself  and  a  certain  famous  doctor  who  had 
come  to  the  ball  as  member  of  a  house-party — were 
aware  that  Lord  Bosworth  would  in  all  probability 
never  see  old  age,  in  the  sense  that  many  of  his  Par- 
liamentary contemporaries  and  former  colleagues  might 
hope  to  do. 

And  now,  as  Barbara  Rebell  saw  him  walking  down 
the  gallery,  talking  with  mellow  sonorous  utterances,  and 
now  and  again  laughing  heartily  at  the  remarks  of  the 
Duchess,  there  swept  over  her  a  sudden  rush  of  revolt 
and  indignation.  She  contrasted  the  fine,  vigorous 
figure,  advancing  towards  her,  with  that  of  the  paralysed 
woman,  whom  she  had  left  to-night  lying  stretched  out 
in  that  awful  immobility;  and  she  recalled  Madame 
Sampiero's  last  muttered  words  to  herself — "  I  think 
you  will  see  Lord  Bosworth  to-night.  I  should  like  you 
to  have  word  with  him — you  will  tell  me  how  he  looks 
— how  he  seems " 


220  BARBARA   REBELL. 

As  the  Duchess  and  her  honoured  guest  drew  close 
to  the  embrasure  where  Barbara  and  Mrs.  Marshall 
were  standing,  Lord  Bosworth's  acute  eyes — those 
eyes  which  had  been  early  trained  to  allow  nothing  of 
interest,  still  less  nothing  of  an  agreeable  nature,  to 
escape  them — became  focussed  on  the  charming  group 
formed  by  the  two  women,  the  one  as  dark  as  the  other 
was  fair,  who  stood  together  against  the  soft  deep 
background  made  by  the  backs  of  the  Halnakeham 
Elzevirs. 

Lord  Bosworth  bent  his  head,  and  asked  the  Duchess 
a  question — then  in  a  moment  the  whole  expression  of 
the  powerful,  still  handsome  face  altered,  the  smile 
faded  from  his  lips,  and  a  look  of  extreme  gravity,  almost 
of  suffering,  came  over  the  firm  mouth  and  square  chin. 
The  Duchess  stayed  her  steps,  and  Barbara  heard 
distinctly  the  eager — "  Certainly,  I  shall  be  delighted  I 
I  have  been  most  anxious  to  meet  her.  Yes — once, 
when  she  was  a  child,  long  ago,  in  France." 

A  moment  later  the  formal  group  had  broken  up  ; 
Barbara's  name  was  uttered,  she  felt  her  right  hand 
taken  in  a  strong  grasp,  and  unceremoniously  Lord 
Bosworth  turned  away  with  her.  Still  holding  her 
hand,  he  led  her  aside  and,  looking  down  at  her  with 
a  moved  expression  on  his  face,  "I  have  been  wishing 
much  to  see  you,"  he  said,  "but,  as  you  perhaps  may 
know,  I  am  not  allowed  to  come  to  Chancton.  I  was 
attached,  most  truly  so,  to  both  your  parents."  He 
hesitated,  and  added  in  a  lower  tone,  '*  Barbara, — that 
is  your  name,  is  it  not  ? — to  me  the  most  beautiful,  the 
noblest  of  women's  names  !  " 

Meanwhile,  much  by-play  was  going  on  around  them, 
but  of  it  all  Mrs.  Rebell  was  quite  unconscious.  Even 
Berwick  was  for  the  moment  forgotten,  and  she  did  not 
see  Arabella's  mingled  look  of  quick  interest  and  slowly 


BARBARA   REBELL.  221 

gathering  surprise  as  Miss  Berwick  realised  with  whom 
her  uncle  had  turned  aside. 

Still  less  was  Barbara  aware  that  the  Duchess  was 
speaking  rather  urgently  to  Mrs.  Marshall.  "There 
is  no  one  in  my  sitting-room,"  she  was  saying,  **  and 
you  will  never  have  such  a  good  opportunity  again 
to-night.  Do  take  him  there  now  !  I  am  sure,  Louise, 
you  will  be  acting  wisely  as  well  as  rightly,  but  do 
not  be  too  long,  for  everyone  wants  to  see  you, — even 
in  the  last  few  moments  several  people  have  come  up 
and  asked  who  you  were,  and  wanted  to  be  introduced 
to  you.  I  have  never  seen  you  looking  better  than 
you  look  to-night."  There  was  a  commanding  as  well 
as  a  caressing  quality  in  the  kind  voice. 

Then  the  Duchess  looked  round,  and  in  answer  to 
her  glance,  Berwick,  ill  at  ease  and  looking  haggard, 
came  forward.  He  also  had  been  watching  his 
uncle  and  Mrs.  Rebell,  wondering  what  they  could 
have  to  say  to  one  another  that  seemed  to  move 
Barbara  so  much ;  but  he  was  not  given  much 
time  for  that  or  any  other  thought.  Timidly,  with 
more  grace  of  manner  than  she  usually  showed, 
Louise  Marshall  turned  towards  him.  "  The  Duchess," 
she  said,  nervously,  "  wants  us  to  go  into  her 
sitting-room  —  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
there." 

For  a  moment,  the  man  addressed  looked  round,  as  if 
seeking  a  way  of  escape  :  then  he  realised  that  the 
moment  he  had  so  dreaded,  and  which  he  had  up 
to  the  present  instant  so  successfully  evaded,  had  come, 
and  must  be  both  faced  and  endured.  A  feeling  of 
rage  came  over  him — a  self-scourging  for  his  own 
exceeding  folly  in  being  here  to-night.  But  without 
making  any  answer,  he  followed  her  down  the 
gallery,     only    Arabella    Berwick    and    the    Duchess 


222  BARBARA   REBELL. 

having  overheard  Mrs.  Marshall's  words,  and  witnessed 
their  result. 

In  matters  of  feeling  and  emotion,  as  in  everything 
else,  it  is  the  unexpected  which  generally  happens. 
When  at  last  James  Berwick  found  himself  alone  with 
Mrs.  Marshall  in  the  small,  dimly-lighted  room  which 
had  but  a  few  hours  before  seen  the  interview  between 
the  Duchess  and  his  sister,  his  companion's  words — 
even  her  action,  or  lack  of  action — took  him  entirely  by 
surprise.  He  had  expected,  and  was  ashamed  for  so 
expecting,  that  the  woman  who  had  compelled  him 
to  follow  her  to  this  solitary  place,  would  turn  and 
fling  herself  into  his  arms  with  a  cry  of  "  Jimmy  I  " — the 
name  which  she  herself  had  invented  for  him,  and 
which  he  had  always  thought  grotesque — on  her  lips. 

While  walking  quickly  down  the  long  corridors 
which  led  from  the  more  modern  side  of  the  Castle 
to  this  older  portion,  he  had  strung  himself  up  to  meet 
any  affectionate  demonstration  with  good-humour  and 
philosophy,  for,  whatever  else  was  not  sure,  this  he  was 
determined  should  be  the  last  meeting  between  them, 
even  if  he  had  to  give  up  half  his  friends  and  all  his 
acquaintances  in  consequence. 

But  Mrs.  Marshall's  behaviour  was  quite  different 
from  that  which  he  had  expected.  After  he  had  shut 
the  door  of  the  boudoir,  she  walked  away  from  him, 
and  sitting  down  began  to  play  with  the  fringe  of  a  table 
cover,  while  he  stood  moodily  staring  down  at  her. 

"Must  you  stand?"  she  asked  at  last,  in  the 
plaintive  tone  which  he  so  much  disliked. 

"Oh  !  no,  not  if  you  wish  me  to  sit  down,"  and  he 
sat  down,  fiercely  waiting  till  it  should  be  her  pleasure 
to  begin. 

How    could   he    have    allowed   himself    to    be    so 


BARBARA  REBELL.  223 

entrapped  ?  He  had  heard  it  asserted  that  women  never 
stood  by  one  another — well,  in  that  case  the  Duchess 
was  an  exception  !  He  ground  his  teeth  with  anger  at 
the  thought  of  the  trick  which  had  been  played  him. 
But  stay — now,  at  last,  Mrs.  Marshall  was  speaking — 

"  Albinia  has  been  talking  to  me.  She  has  been 
telling  me  things  which  I  did  not  really  know  before, — 
I  mean  about  your  position,  and  how  important  it  is 
to  you  that  you  should  remain  free.  You  remember  our 
talk  last  year  ?  " 

Berwick  bent  his  head,  but  into  his  strained  face 
there  came  no  sign  of  the  inward  wincing  which  her 
words  brought  with  them.  Still,  he  began  uncon- 
sciously to  revise  his  opinion  of  the  Duchess  ;  she  had 
meant  well  by  him  after  all,  but  he  wished  she  had  kept 
out  of  his  affairs,  and  left  him  to  manage  them  himself — 

Mrs.  Marshall  was  again  speaking :  **  I  could  not 
understand  what  you  meant  by  what  you  said  then,  it 
seemed  so  unkind !  But  now,  of  course,  I  realise  that 
you  were  right — in  fact  I've  brought  you  here  to-night 
to  tell  you  that  I  do  understand." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Berwick  was  at  an  utter  loss 
for  words,  and  every  moment  he  expected  the  woman 
before  him  to  make  some  more  direct  allusion  to  the 
condition  under  which  he  held  his  fortune.  He  felt 
a  kind  of  helpless  rage  to  think  of  his  affairs  being  thus 
discussed,  even  by  one  so  good-natured  and  well- 
meaning  as  had  evidently  been,  in  this  matter,  the 
Duchess  of  Appleby  and  Kendal.  But  what  did  all 
this  preamble  signify  ? 

"  I  am  glad  you  do  understand,"  he  said  at  last  in  a 
hoarse  voice  which  he  scarcely  recognised  as  his  own, 
*'  I  know  I  must  have  seemed  a  great  brute." 

"  If  you  had  only  trusted  me  more,"  she  said  plain- 
tively.   "  Of  course  I  should  have  understood  at  once  1 


224  BARBARA   REBELL. 

I  should  have  known  that  what  I  could  offer  was  not 

enough — that  there  was  no  comparison " 

Berwick  made  d  sudden  movement.  Was  it  really 
necessary  that  he  should  listen  to  this  ?  Was  it  part  of 
his  punishment  that  he  should  endure  such  unforget- 
table abasement  ?  But,  alas  for  him  !  Louise  Marshall 
was  in  a  sense  enjoying  both  the  scene  and  the  situa- 
tion. While  she  was  speaking,  there  came  into  the 
still  air  of  the  room  the  sound  of  distant  melody,  and 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  looking  on  at  a  touching  last  act 
in  some  sentimental  play.  Also  there  was,  after  all, 
something  uplifting  in  the  sensation — to  her  a  novel  one 
— of  doing  a  noble  action,  for  so  had  the  Duchess,  with 
innocent  cunning,  represented  her  renunciation  of 
James  Berwick. 

This  frivolous,  egoistical  woman,  ever  guided  by  her 
instincts,  never  by  her  heart  or  conscience,  thoroughly 
understood,  as  many  shrewd  and  clever  women  fail  to 
do,  the  value  of  money.  From  the  plane  whence  Mrs. 
Marshall  took  her  survey  of  life,  the  gratification  of 
that  instinct  which  she  called  love  had  always  been  a 
luxury,  and  the  possession  of  wealth  with  which  to  gratify 
all  other  instincts  an  absolute  necessity  of  existence. 
The  contempt  which  most  women,  even  those  them- 
selves ignoble,  naturally  feel  for  a  man  whom  they 
suspect  of  putting  material  possessions  before  the 
deepest  feelings  of  the  heart,  would  to  her  have 
savoured  of  gross  hypocrisy. 

The  Duchess — clever  woman  as  she  was,  and  dealing, 
in  this  case,  with  one  whose  intellect  she  despised — 
would  have  been  surprised  indeed  had  she  known  that 
what  had  really  impressed  and  influenced  Louise  Marshall 
during  their  painful  talk  that  day,  had  been  the  short 
statement,  thrown  in  as  an  after-thought,  of  Berwick's 
financial  position  and  of  what   he  would  lose  if  he 


BARBARA   REBELL.  225 

married  again.  That,  so  Mrs.  Marshall  at  once  told 
herself,  made  all  the  difference.  To  her  mind  it  abso- 
lutely justified  James  Berwick  in  rejecting  the  offer 
practically  made  by  her  within  a  few  weeks  of  her 
husband's  death,  for  what  were  her  few  thousands  a 
year  compared  to  the  huge  income  which  he  would  lose 
on  a  second  marriage  ?  She  was,  however,  inclined  to 
consider  that  he  had  shown  false  delicacy  in  not  at  once 
telling  her  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  Then,  at  any 
rate,  they  might  have  sorrowed  together  over  the  inscrut- 
able dictates  of  Providence.  But  instead  of  taking  that 
sincere  and  manly  course,  Berwick,  during  that  inter- 
view which  even  she  shrank  from  recalling,  had  actually 
implied  that  his  distaste  to  her  was  personal,  his 
horror  of  marriage  a  singular  idiosyncracy !  Now  it 
behoved  her  to  beat  a  dignified  retreat.  And  so,  "  As 
things  are " 

Berwick  began  to  realise  that  the  woman  before  him 
had  prepared  what  she  wished  to  say,  nay  more,  that 
she  had  probably  rehearsed  the  present  scene — 

**  As  things  are,  Jimmy,  I  think  it  will  be  best  for 
us  to  part,  and  so  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to 
India  with  the  Thorntons."  She  hurried  over  the 
words,  honestly  afraid  of  provoking  in  herself  emotion 
of  a  disfiguring  nature,  for  the  thought  of  her 
unselfishness  naturally  brought  the  tears  to  her 
eyes.  "  That's  all,"  she  said  in  abrupt  conclusion, 
"  and  now  I  think  we  had  better  go  back  to  the 
ball-room." 

She  gave  Berwick  a  quick,  furtive  look,  and  suddenly 
felt  sorry  for  him.  How  he  must  have  cared  after  all ! 
For,  as  he  stood  opening  the  door  for  her  to  pass 
through,  his  face  had  turned  ashen,  and  his  blue  eyes 
were  sunken.  So  might  a  man  look  who,  suddenly 
relieved  of  an  intolerable  weight,  is,  for  a   moment, 

B.R.  g 


226  BARBARA   REBELL. 

afraid   to   move  or  to  speak,  lest   the   burden  should 
again  descend  upon  his  shrinking  shoulders. 

When  once  more  in  the  ball-room,  Berwick  made 
his  way  straight  to  his  sister.  Even  before  he  stood  by 
her,  the  expression  on  his  face  had  aroused  her  quick 
anxious  attention.  But  Arabella  had  learnt  to  spare 
her  brother  feminine  comment. 

"  Have  you  yet  spoken  to  Mrs.  Boringdon  ?  "  he 
asked  her,  rather  sharply. 

"  No,  I  ha\e  not  even  seen  her ;  do  you  wish  me  to 
speak  to  her  ?  I  think  she  must  knov/  many  of  the 
people  here.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Over  there,  sitting  with  that  old  lady.  I  should  be 
glad  if  you  would  tell  her  that  we — that  is,  that  you — 
are  going  to  drive  Mrs.  Rebell  back  to  Chanc*- 
to-night.  The  Boringdons  have  to  leave  early,  an! 
would  of  course  be  absurd  for  Mrs.  Rebell  to  go  away 
just  when  you  have  arrived,  and  when  the  Duke  has 
arranged  for  her  to  sit  at  supper  next  to  Monsieur 
Parisot." 

Now  Monsieur  Parisot  was  the  French  Ambassador. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  really  wish  it,  it  can  be  managed." 
Miss  Berwick  spoke  hesitatingly  ;  in  these  little  matters 
she  did  not  like  to  have  her  hand  forced.  "  But,  James, 
it  will  not  be  very  convenient."  And  she  looked  at  her 
brother  with  puzzled  eyes. 

Was  it  possible,  after  all,  that  Albinia  had  been  right 
and  she  wrong  ?  If  so,  wh}'  that  obedient  following  of 
Louise  Marshall  out  of  the  gallery  half  an  hour  before, 
and  why  this  strange  look  on  his  face  now  ?  Miss 
Berwick  had  just  spoken  to  Barbara  Rebell,  but  her 
eyes  were  still  holden ;  indeed,  her  feeling  as  to 
Madame  Sampiero's  god-daughter,  or  rather  as  to  her 
beautiful  gown  and  superb  jewels,  had  not  been  unlike 


BARBARA   REBELL.  227 

that  of  Mrs.  Boringdon,  and  would  have  translated 
itself  into  the  homely  phrase,  "  Fine  feathers  make  fine 
birds."  Arabella  did  not  credit,  for  one  moment,  the 
Duchess's  belief  that  the  mistress  of  Chancton  Priory- 
intended  to  make  the  daughter  of  Richard  Rebell  her 
heiress.  Miss  Berwick  had  persuaded  herself  that 
Chancton  would  pass  in  due  course  into  her  brother's 
possession,  and  she  knew  that  there  had  been  some 
such  proposal  years  before,  in  the  heyday  of  Lord 
Bosworth's  intimacy  with  Madame  Sampiero.  This 
being  so,  it  surely  seemed  a  pity  that  Mrs.  Rebell 
should  now  be  treated  in  a  way  that  might  ultimately 
cause  disappointment. 

"  I  do  wish  it,  and  it  will  be  quite  convenient !  " 
Ber^vick's  tone  was  very  imperious.  "  I  myself  am 
going  back  to  Chillingworth  to-night.  I  offered  long 
ago  to  leave  here  to-day,  for  they  have  every  attic  full. 
J  have  of  course  arranged  for  an  extra  carriage,  so  you 
will  be  put  to  no  inconvenience," — but  his  bright  bine 
eyes,  now  full  of  strange  fire,  fell  before  his  sister's 
challenging  glance,  and  the  altered  accent  with  which 
she  observed,  "  Oh !  of  course  if  you  and  Mrs.  Rebell 
have  arranged  to  go  back  together " 

Berwick's  hand  closed  on  his  sister's  arm  and 
held  it  for  a  moment  in  a  tight,  to  her  a  painful, 
grip. 

"You  have  no  right  to- say,  or  even  to  think,  such 
a  thing  !  The  arrangement,  such  as  it  is,  was  made  by 
me,  Mrs.  Rebell  knows  nothing  of  it ;  she  is  quite 
willing,  and  even  eager,  to  go  back  now  with  the 
Boringdons.      The   other   proposal   must   come    from 

you "  he  hesitated,  then,  more  quietly,  muttered, 

**  I  don't  often  ask  you  to  oblige  me." 

Arabella  gave  in  at  once,  but  with  a  strange  mingling 
of   feelings, — relief  that   she   had   been   wrong  as   to 

Q  2 


228  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Louise  Marshall's  hold  on  her  brother ;  a  certain  pique 
that  in  this  matter  the  Duchess  had  understood  James 
better  than  she  had  herself ;  and,  above  all,  there  was 
a  sensation  of  bewildered  surprise  that  such  a  man  as 
Berwick,  one  so  intelligent,  so  eagerly  absorbed  in 
public  affairs,  should  require  this — this — Arabella  did 
not  know  how  to  qualify,  how  to  describe,  even  to 
herself,  her  brother's  passion  for  romance,  his  craving 
for  sentimental  adventure.  Well,  if  it  was  so,  better 
far  that  he  should  find  what  he  sought,  that  he  should 
follow  his  will-of-the-wisp  in  their  own  neighbourhood, 
and,  for  the  moment,  with  so  colourless — so  the  sister 
seeking  for  another  word,  could  only  find  that  of 
respectable — yes,  so  respectable  a  woman  as  was  this 
Mrs.  Rebell! 

Miss  Berwick,  on  her  way  to  Mrs.  Boringdon,  allowed 
her  eyes  to  sweep  over  the  great  ball-room.  Barbara 
was  standing  talking  to  Mr.  O'Flaherty  whom  Lord 
Bosworth  had  just  introduced  to  her.  "  She  certainly 
looks  intelligent,"  said  Arabella  to  herself,  "  and  quite, 
yes  quite,  a  lady.  Perhaps  my  first  impression  of  her 
was  wrong  after  all.  But  how  foolish,  how  wrong 
of  poor  Barbara  Sampiero  to  let  her  wear  those 
emeralds ! "  Yet  perhaps  the  jewels  played  their 
part  in  modifying  her  view  of  Barbara  Rebell.  The 
wearing  of  fine  gems  is  a  great  test  of  a  woman  s 
refinement. 

Then  Miss  Berwick's  gaze  softened  as  it  became 
fixed  on  Barbara's  companion.  Thank  Heaven,  all  men 
were  not  like  James,  or  all  women  like  Louise  Marshall. 
Daniel  O'Flaherty  had  the  steadfast,  pre-occupied  look 
which  soon  becomes  the  mark  of  those  men  who  are 
architects  of  their  own  fortunes  ;  such  men  can  find 
time  for  a  great  passion,  but  none  for  what  the  French 
happily  describe  as  passionettes.     As  for  Barbara  Rebell, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  229 

there  was  a  look  of  pride  and  reserve  as  well  as  of 
intelligence  in  her  dark  eyes  and  pale  face.  "  If  James 
likes  to  flirt  with  her,  and  Dan," — her  thought  lingered 
over  the  homely  name, — "  likes  to  talk  to  her,  we  must 
see  about  having  her  to  Fletchings  1  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

**  Friendship,  I  fancy,  means  one  heart  between  two." 

George  Meredith. 

**  I  will  hold  your  hand  so  long  as  all  may, 
Or  so  very  little  longer." 

Robert  Browning. 

Barbara  Rebell,  wrapped  in  her  black  domino-like 
cloak,  bent  forward  and  looked  out  of  the  carriage 
window. 

There  was  something  fantastic,  magnificent,  almost 
unreal  in  the  scene  she  saw.  The  brougham  in  which 
she  sat  by  Berwick's  side  was  gliding  quietly  and 
smoothly  between  pillars  of  fire.  The  glare  lighted 
up  the  grey  castle  walls,  and  gave  added  depth  to 
the  forked  shadows  lying  across  the  roadway.  Already 
the  loud  shouts,  the  sound  of  wheels  and  trampling 
horses  filling  the  courtyard,  lay  far  behind.  In  a  few 
moments  they  would  be  under  the  tower,  through  the 
iron  gates,  now  opened  wide  to  speed  the  parting 
guests,  and  driving  down  the  steep  streets  of  sleeping 
Halnakeham  town — so  into  the  still  darkness  of  the 
country  lanes. 

Suddenly,  to  the  left  of  the  Gate  Tower  under  which 
they  were  about  to  pass,  there  quickened  into  bright- 
ness a  bengal  light,  making  vividly  green  the  stretch  of 
grass,  and  lending  spurious  life  to  the  fearsome  dragons 
and  stately  peacocks  which  were  the  pride  of  the 
Halnakeham  topiarist. 

Barbara  clasped  her  hands  in  almost  childish  pleasure. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  231 

"  Oh  !  how  beautiful !  " — she  turned,  sure  of  sympathy, 
to  the  silent  man  by  her  side,  and  then  reddened  as  she 
met  his  amused  smile,  and  yet  it  was  a  very  kind  and 
even  tender  smile,  for  he  also  felt  absurdly  light-hearted 
and  content. 

Till  the  last  moment,  Berwick  had  trembled  lest  his 
scheme  should  miscarry.  Well,  Providence,  recognis- 
ing his  excellent  intentions,  and  realising  how  good  an 
influence  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Rebell  could  not  but 
exercise  on  such  a  man  as  himself,  had  been  kind.  He 
felt  as  exultant  as  does  a  schoolboy  who  has  secured  a 
longed-for  treat,  and  it  was  a  boy's  expression  which 
rose  to  his  mind  concerning  his  sister — "  Arabella 
behaved  like  a  brick  !  " 

Looking  back,  he  could  still  see  the  group  of  people 
standing  in  the  square  entrance  hall  of  the  castle, 
himself  gradually  marshalling  Arabella's  guests  into 
the  Fletchings  omnibus  and  the  Fletchings  carriage; 
Again  he  felt  the  thrill  with  which  at  last  he  had 
heard  his  sister's  clear  voice  say  the  words,  "  Now, 
Mrs.  Rebell,  will  you  please  get  in  there,  and  kindly 
drop  my  brother  at  Chillingworth  on  your  way  back  to 
Chancton?  " 

The  whole  thing  had  been  over  in  a  moment.  He 
himself  had  placed  Barbara,  bewildered  but  submissive, 
in  the  little  brougham  which  he  had  bought  that  last 
spring  in  Paris,  and  which  was  supposed  to  be  the 
dernier  cri  in  coachbuilding  luxury ;  and  then,  taking 
the  place  beside  her,  had  found  himself  at  last  alone 
with  her. 

The  old  Adam  in  Berwick  also  rejoiced  in  having, 
very  literally,  stolen  a  march  on  Madame  Sampiero 
and  Doctor  McKirdy.  These  two  good  people  had  gone 
to  some  trouble  to  prevent  his  being  with  Mrs.  Rebell 
on  the  way  to  the  ball,  but  in  the  matter  of  her  retura 


232  BARBARA   REBELL. 

they  had  proved  powerless.  And  yet,  now  that  he 
came  to  think  of  it,  what  right  had  they  to  interfere  ? 
Who  could  be  more  delicately  careful  of  Barbara  than 
he  would  ever  be  ? — so  Berwick,  sitting  there,  feeling 
her  dear  nearness  in  each  fibre  of  his  being,  asked  himself 
with  indignation.  He  had  made  every  arrangement 
to  prevent  even  the  most  harmless  village  gossip. 
Fools  all  of  them,  and  evil-minded,  not  to  divine  the 
respect,  the  high  honour  in  which  he  held  the  woman 
now  by  his  side !  But  he  meant  to  be  with  her  every 
moment  that  was  possible,  and  'ware  those  who  tried 
to  thwart  this  wholly  honourable  intention  ! 

Thinking  these  thoughts,  and  for  the  moment  well 
satisfied,  he  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  Barbara 
Rebell.  Her  lips  were  smiling,  and  she  looked  absorbed 
in  some  happy  vision.  The  long  night  had  left  no  trace 
of  fatigue  on  her  flushed  face  and  shining  eyes.  Berwick, 
with  a  pang  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure,  realised  how 
much  younger  she  was  than  himself. 

"  You  must  be  tired.  Would  you  like  to  go  to  sleep  ? " 
his  voice  shook  with  tenderness,  but  he  put  a  strong 
restraint  on  himself.  He  was  bound  by  every  code  of 
honour  to  treat  her  to-night  as  he  would  have  done  any 
stranger  confided  by  his  sister  to  his  care. 

Barbara  started  slightly,  and  shook  her  head.  She 
had  been  living  again  the  last  three  hours  of  the  ball. 
How  delightful  and  how  unexpected  it  had  all  been ! 
She  had  enjoyed  intensely  her  long  talk  with  the  French 
Ambassador.  He  also  had  spent  his  childhood,  and 
part  of  his  youth  at  St.  Germains,  the  stately  forest 
town  where  the  brighter  days  of  her  parents'  exile  had 
been  passed.  It  is  well  sometimes  to  meet  with  one 
who  can  say,  "I  too  have  been  in  Arcadia."  Even 
Monsieur  Parisot's  little  compliments  on  her  good 
French  had  reminded  Barbara  of  the  sweet  hypocrisies 


BARBARA   REBELL.  233 

which  make  life  in  France  so  agreeable  to  the  humble- 
minded,  and  especially  to  the  very  young. 

Lord  Bosworth  had  surely  been  the  magician,  for  it 
was  after  his  arrival  that  everything  had  changed  from 
grey  to  rose-colour.  It  was  then  that  James  Berwick 
had  again  become  to  her  what  he  always  was  in  manner, 
and  the  uncle  and  nephew  had  vied  with  one  another 
in  amusing  and  interesting  her.  And  then  had  come 
this  delightful  conclusion,  the  drive  back  in  this  fairy 
chariot ! 

"This  is  a  very 'pretty,  curious  little  carriage,"  her 
eyes  met  his  frankly ;  **  I  feel  like  Cinderella  going  to, 
not  coming  back  from,  the  ball !  " 

Berwick  allowed  himself  to  look  his  fill.  The  brougham 
was  lined  with  some  sort  of  white  watered  silk,  and 
never  would  Barbara  have  a  kinder  background,  or  one 
which  harmonised  more  exquisitely  with  her  rather  pale, 
dark  beauty.  Women  were  then  wearing  their  hair  cut 
straight  across  the  forehead,  and  dressed  in  elaborate 
plaits  about  the  nape  of  the  neck ;  Barbara's  short  curls 
seemed  to  ally  her  with  a  more  refined,  a  less  sophis- 
ticated age, — one  when  innocence  and  archness  were 
compatible  with  instinctive  dignity. 

And  yet,  such  being  the  nature  of  man,  Berwick 
would  have  been  better  pleased  had  she  not  been  now 
so  completely,  so  happily  at  her  ease.  He  felt  that 
between  them  there  lay — not  the  drawn  sword  which 
played  so  strange  and  symbolical  a  part  in  mediaeval 
marriage  by  procuration — but  a  sheaf  of  lilies.  Berwick 
would  have  preferred  the  sword. 

His  had  been  the  mood  which  seeks  an  extreme  ot 
purity  in  the  woman  beloved.  Till  now  he  had  been 
glad  to  worship  on  his  knees,  and  where  she  walked 
had  been  holy  ground.  But  now  he  craved  for  some  of 
the  tenderness  Barbara  lavished  on  Madame  Sampiero. 


234  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Could  she  not  even  spare  him  the  warmth  of  fecHng 
shown  by  her  when  speaking  of  Grace  and  Andrew 
Johnstone  ?  Since  that  last  interview  with  Mrs.  Marshall 
he  had  felt  free — free  as  he  had  not  felt  for  over  a  year. 
Was  he  to  have  no  profit  of  his  freedom  ? 

"  It  is  you  who  look  tired,  Mr.  Berwick ;  I'm  afraid 
you  stayed  on  for  my  sake  ?  " 

Barbara  was  looking  at  him  with  real  concern.  How 
unlike  himself  he  had  been  all  that  evening  !  Perhaps, 
when  she  had  been  stupidly  annoyed  at  his  supposed 
neglect  of  her,  he  had  really  been  suffering.  His  face 
looked  strained  and  thin  in  the  bright  light  thrown  by 
a  cunning  little  arrangement  of  mirrors.  She  felt  a 
pang  of  fear.  How  would  she  be  able  to  bear  it  if  he 
fell  ill,  away  from  her,  in  that  large  bare  house  which 
seemed  so  little  his  home  ? 

It  was  well  perhaps  that  Berwick  could  not  see  just 
then  into  her  heart,  and  yet  it  was  still  an  ignorant 
and  innocent  heart.  The  youngest  girl  present  at  the 
Halnakeham  Castle  ball  could  probably  have  taught 
Mrs.  Rebell  more  than  she  now  knew  of  the  ways  of 
men — almost,  it  might  be  said,  of  the  ways  of  love. 
Her  father  had  had  the  manhood  crushed  out  of  him 
by  his  great  misfortune.  Barbara,  as  child  and  girl, 
had  reverenced — not  the  chill  automaton,  caring  only 
ifor  the  English  papers  and  a  little  mild  play,  which 
Richard  Rebell  had  become  in  middle  life, — but  the 
attractive  early  image  of  him  sedulously  presented  to  her 
by  her  mother.  She  had  had  no  brothers  to  bring 
young  people  to  the  many  homes  of  her  girlhood. 
Then,  across  her  horizon,  had  come  the  baleful  figure 
of  Pedro  Rebell,  but  at  no  time,  after  her  marriage, 
had  she  made  the  mistake  of  regarding  him  as  a  normal 
man.  No,  her  first  real  knowledge  of  the  average  English- 
man  had  been  during  those  weeks  of  convalescence, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  235 

spent  at  the  Government  House  of  Santa  Maria, 
when  she  had  been  slowly  struggling  back  into  a  wish 
to  live.  There  she  had  known,  and  had  shrunk  from 
the  knowledge,  that  all  those  about  her  were  aware  of 
what  sort  of  life  she  had  been  compelled  to  lead  on  her 
husband's  plantation.  Every  step  of  Mr.  Johnstone's 
negotiations  with  Pedro  Rebell  was  followed  by  her  new 
friends  with  intense  sympathy,  and  when  at  last  the 
planter  had  been  half  persuaded,  half  bribed  into  signing 
a  document  binding  him  not  to  molest  his  wife,  her  only 
longing  had  been  to  go  away,  and  never  to  see  any  of 
the  people  connected  with  the  island  again. 

What  could  Barbara  Rebell  know  of  men — of  such 
men  as  James  Berwick  and  Oliver  Boringdon  ?  She 
dowered  them  with  virtues  and  qualities,  with  unselfish 
impulses  and  powers  of  self-restraint,  which  would  have 
brought  a  Galahad  to  shame.  She  knew  enough  of  a 
certain  side  of  life  to  recognise  and  shrink  from  such 
coarseness  as  was  not  the  saving  grace  of  Mrs.  Turke. 
She  realised  that  that  type  of  mind  must  see  evil  in 
even  the  most  innocent  tie  between  a  man  and  a 
woman,  but  on  such  minds  she  preferred  not  to  dwell. 
She  knew  how  close  had  been  the  affection  between  her 
mother  and  Madame  Sampiero.  Why  should  not  some 
such  feeling,  close  and  yet  sexless,  link  her  to  James 
Berwick,  to  whom  she  had  experienced, — so  much  she 
had  perforce  to  acknowledge  to  herself, — a  curious, 
intimate  attraction  from  the  first  time  they  had  met  ? 

So  it  was  that  to-night  she  looked  at  him  with  con- 
cern, and  spoke  with  a  new  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice, 
"  I  should  have  been  quite  content  to  go  back  with  the 
Boringdons — I  fear  you  stayed  on  for  my  sake." 

**  But  I  should  not  have  been  at  all  content  if  you  had 
gone  back  with  the  Boringdons !  Why  should  I  not 
stay  on  for  your  sake  ?  "  he  was  smiling  at  her.     She 


236  BARBARA   REBELL. 

looked  at  him  rather  puzzled.  When  they  were  alone, 
they  two,  with  no  third  influence  between  them, 
Barbara  always  felt  completely  happy  and  at  ease. 
His  presence  brought  security. 

"  Only  if  you  were  tired,"  she  said  rather  lamely,  and 
then  again  with  that  new  anxiety,  "  Old  Mr.  Daman 
said  to  someone  before  me,  'James  Berwick's  looking 
rather  fagged  to-night ' " 

"  Let  us  talk  of  you,  not  of  me,"  he  said  rather 
hastily.  Heavens  !  what  might  she  not  have  heard 
during  this  evening  concerning  him  and  his  affairs  ? 
He  lowered  for  a  moment  the  window  to  his  right  and 
looked  out  into  the  starless  moonless  night,  or  rather 
early  morning. 

**  We  are  now  on  the  brow  of  Whiteways.  I  wish  it 
were  daylight,  for  then  you  would  see  the  finest  view  in 
Sussex." 

"  But  I  have  seen  the  view.  I  was  at  the  meet,  and 
thanks  to  your  kindness,  for  I  rode  Saucebox.  Mr. 
Berwick,  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  thanked  you 
sufficiently  for  Saucebox  !  " 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  quick  movement.  **  I  do 
not  think  there  should  ever  be  a  question  of  thanks 
between  you  and  me.  We  are — at  least  I  hope  so — 
too  good  friends  for  that."  And  with  a  certain  gravity 
he  added,  "  Do  you  not  believe  friendship  possible 
between  a  man  and  woman  ?  "  He  waited  a  moment, 
then  hurried  on,  "  Listen  !  I  offer  you  my  friendship; 
I  have  never  done  so,  in  the  sense  I  do  now,  to  any 
other  woman.  Shall  I  tell  you  who  has  been  my  best, 
indeed  my  only,  woman  friend  ?  only  my  sister,  only 
Arabella.  I  owe  her  more  than  one  debt  of  very  sincere 
gratitude.  You  will  not  grudge  her  place  in  my — " 
again  he  hesitated, — "  in  my  heart." 

Barbara    smiled    tremulously.      What    a    strange 


BARBARA   REBELL.  237 

question  to  ask  her  !  She  felt  a  little  afraid  of  Miss 
Berwick,  and  yet  how  friendly  and  gracious  had  been 
her  manner  to-night. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  urgently,  "you  do  not  mind  my 
saying  this  to  you  ?  I  only  wish  to  seal  an  existent 
compact.  Ever  since  we  met,  have  we  not  been  close 
friends,  you  and  I  ?  I  take  it  we  are  both  singularly 
placed,"  he  bent  down  and  tried  to  look  into  her  down- 
cast eyes,  "  I  am  very  solitary,  and  you  have  only 
Madame  Sampiero — is  not  that  so?" 

Barbara  bent  her  head.  She  felt  that  Berwick's  low, 
ardent  voice  was  slowly  opening  the  gates  of  paradise, 
and  drawing  her  through  into  that  enchanted  garden 
where  every  longing  of  the  heart  may  be  safely  and 
innocently  satisfied. 

The  carriage  was  going  slowly  down  the  steep  hill 
leading  from  Whiteways  to  Chillingworth,  and  Berwick 
knew  that  he  would  soon  have  to  leave  her.  His  voice 
dropped  to  a  lower  key — he  ventured,  for  a  moment,  to 
take  her  ringless  left  hand  and  hold  it  tightly :  "I  ask 
but  little — nothing  you  do  not  think  it  right  to  give. 
But  your  friendship  would  mean  much  to  me — would 
protect  me  from  evil  impulses  of  which,  thank  God,  you 
can  know  nothing.  Even  to-night  I  suffered  from 
misdeeds — to  put  it  plainly,  from  past  sins  I  should  not 
have  been  even  tempted  to  commit  had  I  known  you 
when  I  committed  them." 

His  words — his  confession — moved  Barbara  to  the 
soul.  "  I  am  your  friend,"  she  spoke  with  a  certain 
difficulty,  and  yet  with  solemnity.  She  looked  up,  and 
he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  they  both,  or  perhaps  it 
was  only  Berwick,  came  down  again  to  the  everyday 
world  where  friendship  between  a  man  and  a  \^■oman  is 
regarded  as  so  dangerous  a  thing  by  the  prudent 


238  BARBARA   REBELL. 

*'  Good-night  1  Thank  you  for  bringing  me.'*  He 
added  a  word  or  two  as  to  the  carriage  and  the  Priory 
stables — his  coachman  was  a  Chancton  man — and 
then  he  was  gone,  leaving  Barbara  to  go  on  alone, 
happy,  content  with  Hfe,  as  she  had  never  thought  it 
possible  to  be. 

James  Berwick,  making  his  way  quickly  up  the  steep 
path  leading  from  the  wall  built  round  Chillingworth 
Park  to  the  high  plateau  on  which  stood  the  house,  felt 
less  content  and  very  much  less  happy.  Had  he  not 
been  rather  too  quixotic  in  this  matter  of  leaving 
Barbara  to  go  on  her  way  alone  ?  Why  should  he  not 
have  prolonged  those  exquisite  moments?  What  harm 
could  it  have  done  had  he  given  himself  the  pleasure  of 
accompanying  his  friend  to  the  Priory,  and  then  driving 
back  to  Chillingworth  by  himself?  Perhaps  there  had 
been  something  pusillanimous  in  his  fear  of  idle  gossip. 
Oh  !  why  had  he  behaved  in  this  matter  so  much  better 
than  there  was  any  occasion  to  do  ? 

So  our  good  deeds  rise  up  and  smite  us,  and  seldom 
are  we  allowed  the  consolation  of  knowing  what 
alternative  action  on  our  part  might  have  brought 
about. 

Thus  it  was  an  ill-satisfied  and  restless  man  who  let 
ihimself  in  by  a  small  side-door  into  the  huge  silent 
house.  He  had  given  orders  that  no  one  should  sit  up, 
and  in  such  a  matter  disobedience  on  the  part  of  "a 
servant  would  have  meant  dismissal.  Yet  Berwick  was 
an  indulgent  master,  and  when  he  walked  into  the 
comparatively  small  room  which  he  always  used  when 
at  Chillingworth,  the  only  apartment  in  the  house 
which  in  any  way  betra3'ed  its  owner's  tastes  and 
idiosyncrasies,  he  became  aware  that  his  comfort,  or 
what  it  had  been  thought  would  be  his  comfort,  had 


BARBARA   REBELL.  239 

been  studied ;  for  a  tray,  laden  with  food  and  various 
decanters  of  wines  and  spirits,  stood  on  a  table,  and  the 
remains  of  what  had  been  a  large  fire  still  burned  in  the 
grate. 

He  stifled  an  exclamation  of  disgust.  How  hot,  how 
airless  the  room  was  !  He  walked  over  to  the  high 
window,  pulled  back  the  curtains  and  threw  it  open. 
It  was  still  intensely  dark,  but  along  the  horizon,  above 
the  place  where  he  knew  the  sea  to  be,  was  a  shaft  of 
dim  light — perhaps  the  first  faint  precursor  of  the  dawn. 
Leaving  the  window  open  he  came  back  to  the  fire- 
place and  flung  himself  down  in  a  chair,  and  there 
came  over  him  a  feeling  of  great  depression  and  of 
peculiar  loneliness. 

Soon  his  longing  for  Barbara's  soothing^  intimate 
presence  became  intolerably  intense.  For  the  first 
time  since  they  had  come  to  know  one  another  well, 
Berwick  deliberately  tried  to  analyse  his  feeling  towards 
her.  He  was  not  in  love  with  Barbara  Rebell — 01 
that  he  assured  himself  with  a  certain  fierceness.  He 
thought  of  what  he  had  said  to  her  to-night.  In  a 
sense  he  had  told  her  the  exact  truth.  He  had  never 
offered  any  other  women  the  friendship  he  had  asked 
her  to  accept.  He  had  always  asked  for  less — or  more 
— but  then,  looking  back,  he  could  tell  himself  that 
there  was  no  one  woman  who  had  ever  roused  in  him 
the  peculiar  sentiment  that  he  felt  for  Mrs.  Rebell. 
The  feeling  he  now  experienced  was  more  akin,  though 
far  deeper  and  tenderer  in  texture,  to  the  fleeting  fancy 
he  had  had  for  that  pretty  debutante  whom  Arabella 
had  so  greatly  feared.  But,  whereas  he  had  borne  the 
girl's  defection,  when  it  had  come,  with  easy  philo- 
sophy, he  knew  that  his  relation  to  Barbara  \\as  such 
that  any  defection  there  would  rouse  in  him  those 
pirmeval  instincts  which  lead  every  day  to  such  sordid 


240  BARBARA   REBELL. 

tragedies  in  that  class  where  the  passion  of  love  is 
often  the  only  thing  in  life  bringing  hope  of  release  and 
forgetfulness  from  ignoble  and  material  cares. 

Berwick  had  many  faults,  but  personal  vanity  was 
not  one  of  them.  He  considered  Oliver  Boringdon 
more  a  man  to  attract  women  than  he  was  himself, 
and  he  had  thought  his  friend  lamentably  backward 
in  making  use  of  his  opportunities.  Now,  the  know- 
ledge that  Boringdon  was  daily  in  Mrs.  Rebell's 
company  was  distinctly  disturbing.  Was  Barbara  the 
type  of  woman — Berwick  knew  there  were  many  such — 
who  make  a  cult  of  sentimental  friendships  ?  Then  he 
felt  deeply  ashamed  of  the  thought,  and  in  his  heart  he 
begged  her  forgiveness. 

A  Frenchman,  once  speaking  to  him  of  an  acquaint- 
ance whose  unhappy  passion  for  a  celebrated  beauty 
was  being  much  discussed,  had  observed,  "  II  I'a 
dans  la  peau  !  Dans  ces  cas-la  il  n'y  a  rien  a  faire  !  " 
He  had  thought  the  expression  curiously  apt,  and  he 
remembered  it  to-night.  More  than  once  during  the 
last  few  days  he  had  found  himself  planning  his  imme- 
diate future  entirely  by  the  light,  as  it  were,  of 
Chancton  Prior}-.  By  every  post  he  was  refusing 
invitations,  and  avoiding  coming  political  engagements. 
But  there  was  one  great  exception.  Even  while  speak- 
ing to  Arabella  at  the  ball,  he  had  been  wondering 
whether  he  could  persuade  her  to  secure  Mrs.  Rebell's 
inclusion  in  a  very  small  and  entirely  political  house- 
party  in  Scotland,  the  occasion  of  which  was  a  series  of 
important  political  meetings,  and  to  which  both  brother 
and  sister  had  been  for  some  time  pledged.  It  would 
be  good  to  be  away  with  Barbara,  among  strangers, 
ar  from  Chancton  and  from  Chillingworth. 

Berwick  hated  Chillingworth.     When  there   he  fel 
himself  to  be  the  unwelcome  guest  of  the  man  who  had 


BARBARA   REBELL.  241 

built  the  huge  place,  and  whose  personality  it  seemed  to 
express  and  to  perpetuate,  as  houses  so  often  do  the 
personality  of  their  builders.  The  creator  of  Chilling- 
worth  had  been  an  acute  early  Victorian  manufacturer, 
a  worthy  man  according  to  his  lights,  and  a  pillar  of 
the  Manchester  School.  He  had  taken  fortune  at  the 
flood,  and  his  late  marriage  to  a  woman  of  slightly 
better  birth  and  breeding  than  his  own  had  produced 
the  sickly,  refined  daughter  whom  Berwick  had  married. 

Chillingworth  seemed  plastered  with  money.  Every 
room  bore  evidence  of  lavish  expenditure  ;  money  spent 
on  furniture,  on  pictures,  on  useless  ornaments,  during 
a  period  of  our  history  when  beauty  seemed  wholly  in 
eclipse ;  and  this  was  all  the  more  pitiable  because  the 
house  was  gloriously  placed  on  a  spur  of  the  down,  and 
the  views  from  its  windows  rivalled  those  of  Chancton 
Priory. 

Even  had  Berwick  wished  to  do  so,  he  could  not 
have  made  any  serious  alterations  to  the  place,  for  the 
trustees  of  his  marriage  settlement  were  the  very  people, 
distant  relatives  of  his  wife's,  whose  children  would 
benefit  were  he  to  forfeit  his  life  interest  in  her 
fortune.  To  these  people  Chillingworth  spelt  per- 
fection, and  was  a  treasure-house  of  beautiful,  because 
costly,  objects  of  art.  Occasionally,  perhaps  once  in  two 
years,  its  present  owner  would  fill  the  great  mansion 
for  a  few  weeks  with  men  and  women — political  ac- 
quaintances and  their  wives — to  whom  an  invitation  to 
James  Berwick's  Sussex  estate  gave  pleasure,  but  other- 
wise he  was  little  there,  and  the  neighbourhood  had 
long  since  left  off  wondering  and  exclaiming  at  his 
preference  for  Chancton  Priory. 

**  If  Miss  Berwick  sends  over  for  a  carriage,  the  French 
brougham  which  was  used  last  night  is  not  to  go." 

B.R.  R 


242  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  Very  good,  Sir."  And  then,  after  a  short  pause, 
"Anything  wrong  with  the  carriage,  Sir  ?  " 

"  No.  By  the  way,  it  may  be  required  at  Chancton. 
I  have  told  Madame  Sampiero  that  she  may  ha\e  the 
use  of  it  for  the  lady  who  is  staying  there.  "Where's 
Dean  ?  " 

Berwick,  haggard-looking,  and  evidently  in  a  mood 
\\hich  his  servants  knew  and  dreaded,  was  looking 
sharply  round  the  stable  yard.  If  he,  the  master,  was 
up  and  about  by  nine  o'clock,  the  morning  after  the 
Halnakeham  Castle  ball,  then  surely  his  coachman 
could  be  the  same. 

"  Dean's  in  trouble,  Sir.  He  will  be  sending  to  ask 
if  you  can  spare  him  to-day.  Wife  was  taken  ill  last 
night,  babby  dead." 

The  laconic  words  struck  Berwick  with  a  curious 
chill,  and  served  to  rouse  him  from  his  self-absorption. 
He  was  fond  of  Dean.  The  man  had  been  with  him 
for  many  years.  They  were  the  same  age, — Berwick 
could  remember  him  as  a  stolid  Chancton  child — and 
he  had  only  been  married  about  a  year,  after  one  of 
those  long;  faithful  engagements  common  in  those 
parts.  Heavens  !  If  Dean  felt  for  his  wife  a  tenth  of 
what  he,  Berwick,  felt  for  Barbara  Rebell,  what  must 
not  the  man  have  gone  through  that  night — that  early 
morning  ? 

Muttering  some  expression  of  concern,  he  turned  and 
went  off  into  the  house,  there  to  consult  with  the 
housekeeper  as  to  the  sending  of  practical  relief  to  the 
stricken  household,  and  to  write  a  note  telling  Dean 
he  could  be  absent  for  ac  loiig  as  he  wislieJ. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Men  may  have  rounded  Seraglio  Point :  they  have  not  yet 
doubled  Cape  Turk." 

George  Meredith. 

Miss  Vipen's  cottage  was  exactly  opposite  the 
Chancton  Post  Office.  Even  in  winter  it  was  a  pretty, 
cheerful-looking  little  house  closely  covered  with  ever- 
green creepers,  the  path  up  to  the  porch  guarded  by 
four  lemon  trees  cut  into  fantastic  shapes. 

From  her  sitting-room  window,  the  old  lady  could 
see  all  that  went  on  in  the  main  street  of  Chancton 
village,  and  take  note  of  the  coming  and  going  both  of 
familiars  and  of  strangers,  thus  providing  herself  with 
the  material  whereby  she  wove  the  web  of  the  destinies 
of  those  about  her. 

They  who  exist  only  to  sow  spite  and  malice  should 
always  live  in  the  country.  A  town  finds  them  at  a 
disadvantage,  for  there  those  about  them  have  too 
much  to  do  to  find  more  than  a  very  passing  amuse- 
ment in  their  conversation.  But  in  a  country 
neighbourhood,  such  a  woman  as  Miss  Vipen  is  a 
godsend,  partly  because,  in  addition  to  being  a  centre 
of  gossip,  she  is  often  the  source  of  authentic  news. 
People  tell  her  things  they  would  be  ashamed  to  tell 
each  other,  and,  with  the  strange  lack  of  imagination 
or  excess  of  vanity  which  afflicts  most  of  us  in  certain 
circumstances,  each  member  of  the  large  circle  formed 
about  such  a  woman,  and  with  whom  she  is  often 
actually  popular,  believes  himself  or  herself  exemp 
.  from  her  biting  tongue. 

R  a 


244  BARBARA    REBELL. 

Here,  in  Chancton,  each  and  all  admired  Miss" 
Vipen's  easy  kindness, — a  quality  which  so  often' 
accompanies  evil  speaking.  Yet  another  thing  was 
accounted  to  her  for  righteousness.  She  never  men- 
tioned the  mistress  of  the  Priory, — never  spoke  either 
good  or  evil  of  Madame  Sampiero,  of  the  one  human 
being  who  had  for  long  years  provided  even  the  staid 
and  prudent  with  legitimate  subjects  of  scandal  and 
gossip. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Miss  Vipen  owed  her  cottage, 
her  income,  her  very  position  in  Chancton,  to  the 
mistress  of  the  Priory.  Her  father  had  been  land- 
agent  to  Madame  Sampiero's  father.  The  two  women 
had  been  girls  together,  and  when  finally  the  arrange- 
ments had  been  made  which  provided  for  Miss  Vipen's 
later  life  and  for  what  she  cared  for  so  much  more,  the 
keeping  up  of  her  adequate  position  in  the  neighbour- 
hood where  she  had  spent  her  whole  existence,  her  old 
friend  had  said  to  her:  "I  only  ask  one  thing.  I 
beg  you,  Martha,  never  to  speak  of  me  again,  kindly 
or  unkindly,  in  love  or  in  anger!" — and  Miss  Vipen 
had  faithfully  kept  her  side  of  the  bargain. 

Only  two  people  in  Chancton  had  the  moral  courage 
steadily  to  avoid  her  dangerous  company.  The  one 
was  Doctor  McKirdy,  who,  as  a  young  man,  and  when 
still  a  stranger  to  the  place,  had  extracted  from  her 
a  written  apology  for  something  she  had  said  of  him 
which  identified  him  too  closely  for  his  taste  with  the 
physiologists  who  were  then  beginning  to  be  much 
discussed.  The  other  was  General  Kemp.  Making  one 
day  sudden  irruption  into  her  sitting-room,  he  had 
overheard  a  remark  made  by  her  concerning  his  own 
daughter  and  Captain  Laxton  ;  at  once  he  had  turned 
on  his  heel,  and,  after  giving  his  wife  a  short  sketch 
of  what  would  have  happened  to  Miss  Vipen  had  she 


BARBARA   REBELL.  245 

'worn  breeches  instead  of  petticoats,  he  had  declared 
it  to  be  his  intention  never  wilHngly  to  meet  her 
again. 

Mahce,  to  be  effective,  however  vulgar  in  its  essence, 
should  on  the  whole  be  refined  in  its  expression.  There 
were  certain  people,  notably  poor  Mrs.  Sampson,  the 
rector's  wife,  to  whom  Miss  Vipen  felt  she  could  say 
anything,  sure  of  a  fascinated,  even  if  a  fearful,  listener. 
With  others  she  was  more  careful,  and  to  Mrs. 
Boringdon  she  had  soon  become  a  valuable  ally,  and  a 
precious  source  of  information. 

This  was  the  woman  from  whose  company  and 
conversation  Oliver  Boringdon,  two  days  after  the 
Halnakeham  Castle  ball,  came  straight  down  the 
village  street  to  Chancton  Grange.  He  had  been 
to  see  Miss  Vipen  on  a  matter  of  business  connected 
with  a  slight  leakage  in  her  roof,  but  the  hawk-eyed 
old  lady,  as  was  her  wont,  had  in  a  very  few  moments 
planted  an  envenomed  dart  in  his  mind  and  brain. 

Partly  perhaps  because  he  knew  her  to  be  so  intensely 
disliked  by  Doctor  McKirdy,  and  partly  because  she  was 
one  of  the  very  few  people  who  never  tried  to  extract 
from  him  information  concerning  Madame  Sampiero 
and  the  Priory,  Oliver  actually  liked  Miss  Vipen.  She 
was  an  intelligent  woman,  and  her  kindnesses  to  the 
village  people  were  intelligent  kindnesses.  She  would 
lend  books  and  papers  to  the  sick  and  ailing,  and  more 
than  once  he  had  come  across  traces  of  her  good  deeds 
among  the  poor  of  the  place, — men  and  women  with 
whom  she  had  life-long  links  of  familiarity  and  interest. 
She  was  aware  that  Boringdon  liked  her,  and  she  took 
trouble  to  keep  his  good  opinion.  So  it  was  that  to-day 
her  few  remarks — said  more,  or  so  it  seemed,  in  pity 
than  in  anger,  had  been  carefully  chosen — and  only 


246  BARBARA   REBELL. 

amounted  to  the  regrettable  fact  that  James  Benvick's 
frequent  visits  to  the  Priory,  and  the  long  hours  he  was 
said  to  spend  alone  with  Mrs.  Rebell,  were  causing 
unpleasant  remark  both  in  the  village  and  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

Boringdon  had  listened  in  absolute  silence,  then,  taking 
up  his  hat  and  stick,  had  gone,  leaving  his  hostess  rather 
uncomfortable.  But  Miss  Vipen's  words  had  met  with 
unquestioning  belief,  and  they  had  made  her  listener's 
smouldering  jealousy  and  unhappiness — for  in  these 
days  Oliver  was  very  jealous  and  wretchedly  unhappy 
— burst  into  flame. 

Since  the  ball  the  young  man  had  seen  practically 
nothing  of  Barbara,  although  she  had  been  present  at 
each  of  his  daily  interviews  with  Madame  Sampiero; 
and  when  one  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  had  gone 
contrary  to  his  custom,  to  the  Prior}',  the  admirably 
trained  McGregor  had  informed  him  that  Mrs.  Rebell 
was  "not  at  home,"  although  Boringdon  had  seen  her 
shadow  and  that  of  Berwick  cast  on  the  blind  of  the 
blue  drawing-room. 

James  Berwick's  attitude  towards  women  had  always 
been  inexplicable  to  Oliver,  for  he  was  entirely  out  of 
sympathy  with  his  friend's  interest  in  Woman  qua 
Woman.  In  no  circumstances  would  the  younger  man 
have  been  capable  of  imagining  the  peculiar  relation- 
ship which  had  sprung  up  between  these  two  people,  to 
each  of  whom — and  it  was  an  aggravating  circumstance 
— he  felt  himself  bound  by  so  close  a  tie. 

During  the  last  two  days  his  jealousy  and  suspicion 
of  Berwick's  motives  had  almost  prompted  him  to  say 
something  to  Mrs.  Rebell,  but  there  was  that  in  Barbara 
which  made  it  very  difficult  to  approach  such  a  subject 
with  her.  Also,  even  if  lacking  in  a  sense  of  humour, 
Boringdon  was  yet  dimly  aware  that  she  might  well 


BARBARA   REBELL.  247 

retort  with  a  tu  quoque  argument  which  he  would  find  it 
difficult  to  meet.  For  there  had  been  one  fortnight  in 
which,  looking  back,  he  was  obliged  to  admit  to  himself 
that  he  had  spent  far  more  time  in  Mrs.  Rebell's  com- 
pany than  he  could  accuse  Berwick  of  now  doing.  He 
and  she  had  walked  together,  ridden  together,  and 
talked  together  of  everything  under  heaven  and  earth. 
Even — fool  that  he  had  been — he  had  told  her  much  of 
Berwick,  and  all  to  that  dangerous  sentimentalist's 
advantage. 

Then  there  had  come  a  sudden  change  over  his  own 
and  Mrs.  Rebell's  pleasant  and  profitable  relationship. 
Saucebox  had  kicked  herself  in  the  stable,  and  had 
gone  back,  in  disgrace,  to  Chiilingworth,  so  the  rides 
had  perforce  come  to  an  end.  Little  by  little,  or  so  it 
now  seemed  to  Oliver,  he  had  been  shepherded  into 
only  going  over  to  the  Priory  in  the  morning — made  to 
feel  that  at  other  times  he  was  not  welcome. 

The  young  man  remembered  well  the  first  time  he 
had  come  over  to  the  Priory  to  find  Berwick  installed, 
almost  as  master,  in  the  great  hall,  and  Barbara  listening 
to  this  new  acquaintance  as  she  had  hitherto  only  listened 
to  him,  to  Boringdon  himself.  And  yet  what  was  there 
to  be  done  ?  Madame  Sampiero's  attitude  filled  him 
with  indignation  ;  surely  it  was  her  duty  to  save  her 
god-daughter  from  the  snares  of  such  a  fowler  as 
she  must  know  Berwick  to  be  ? 

Boringdon  had  long  been  aware  of  the  type  of 
feminine  companionship  his  friend  was  always  seek- 
ing, and  dimly  he  understood  that  hitherto  the  pursuit 
had  been  unavailing.  But  now  ? — I^Irs.  Rebell,  so 
Boringdon,  with  something  like  agony,  acknowledged 
to  himself,  fulfilled  all  the  conditions  of  Berwick's 
ideal ;  and  a  nobler,  more  unselfish  feeling  than  mere 
personal    nstinct  stirred  him  to  revolt,  while  he  was 


248  BARBARA   REBELL. 

also  swayed  by  an  anger  born  of  keen  jealousy,  dignified 
by  him  with  a  hundred  names,  of  which  the  most  com- 
fortable to  his  self-esteem  and  conscience  was  care  for 
Mrs.  Rebell's  reputation. 

At  certain  moments  he  reminded  himself  how  much 
Bersvick  had  been  at  the  Priory  before  Mrs.  Rebell's 
arrival,  but  even  so,  such  a  man's  constant  presence 
there  was  terribly  dangerous !  Some  kind,  wholly 
disinterested  woman  must  tell  Barbara  that  in  England 
Berwick's  conduct  would  surely  compromise  her,  what- 
ever might  be  the  case  at  Santa  Maria  or  on  the 
Continent. 

Casting  about  in  his  mind,  Boringdon  could  think  of 
but  one  person  in  the  neighbourhood  who  was  fitted  to 
undertake  so  delicate  a  task,  and  who  would,  so  he  told 
himself,  understand  his  own  personal  share  in  the 
matter;  this  person  was  Mrs.  Kemp.  To  the  Grange 
he  accordingly  made  his  way,  after  having  listened  in 
silence  to  Miss  Vipen's  softly  uttered  remarks. 

From  the  first  fortune  favoured  him,  for  Mrs.  Kemp 
was  alone.  The  General  and  Lucy  were  gone  to 
Halnakeham  for  the  afternoon  ;  and  Boringdon,  coming 
in  out  of  the  late  November  air  full  of  suppressed  ex- 
citement and  ill  at  ease,  felt  soothed  by  the  look  of 
warmth  and  comfort  with  which  Lucy's  mother  alwa3-s 
managed  to  surround  herself. 

To  Oliver's  own  mother,  to  Mrs.  Boringdon,  an  ap- 
pearance of  comfort,  even  of  luxury,  was  all-important 
when  guests  were  expected  at  Chancton  Cottage.  Then 
everj'thing  was  suitably  lavish,  and  even  luxurious.  But 
when  the  young  man  and  his  mother  were  alone,  fires 
were  allowed  to  burn  low,  the  food,  poor  in  quality, 
was  also  limited  as  to  quantity,  and  it  was  well  for 
Oliver  that  he  cared  as  little  as  on  the  whole  he  did  for 


BARBARA   REBELL.  249 

creature  comforts.  In  Mrs.  Boringdon's  mind  the  page 
boy  was  set  against  the  sweets  at  luncheon  and  the 
cakes  at  tea  which  Oliver  would  have  enjoyed,  but  then 
in  the  country  a  man-servant  was  essential — an  essential 
portion  of  her  own  and  her  son's  dignity. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock.  At  home  Boringdon  would 
have  had  to  wait  another  hour  for  tea,  and  so  would 
any  passing  guest  who  could  be  regarded  as  an  intimate 
friend,  but  here,  at  the  Grange,  it  appeared  as  if  by 
magic  a  few  minutes  after  the  visitor  had  sat  down 
opposite  Mrs.  Kemp,  and  Oliver  soon  felt  heartened 
up  to  approach  what  even  he  felt  to  be  a  rather  difficult 
subject. 

The  kind  woman  whose  aid  he  was  about  to  invoke 
made  it  easy  for  him  to  begin,  for  she  was  very  cordial ; 
thanks  to  Boringdon,  Lucy  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
ball  at  Halnakeham  Castle,  and  the  mother  felt  grateful 
for  even  this  small  mercy.  During  the  last  two  days 
she  had  reminded  herself  more  than  once  that  affairs 
of  the  heart,  when  not  interfered  with  unduly,  have  an 
odd  way  of  coming  right. 

**  I  need  not  ask,"  he  said,  rather  awkwardly,  **  if 
Lucy  is  no  worse  for  the  ball." 

Mrs.  Kemp  was  not  sure  whether  she  liked  to  hear 
Boringdon  call  her  daughter  Lucy ;  he  had  only  begun 
doing  so  lately,  and  she  had  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  mention  it  to  the  General.  There  was  still  a  certain 
coolness  between  Oliver  and  Lucy's  father — they 
avoided  each  other's  company. 

He  went  on  without  waiting  for  an  answer :  '*  Mrs. 
Rebell  seems  to  have  found  it  a  trying  experience,  and 
yet  she  did  not  dance  at  all.  I  went  to  the  Priory  this 
morning,  and  she  was  too  tired  to  come  down." 

"  But  then  she  came  back  so  much  later  than  you 
all  did.     I  understand  that  she  stayed  on  with  the 


250  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Fletchings  party,  and  I  heard  some  of  their  carriages 
going  through  the  village  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  I  " 

Boringdon  looked  at  her  with  quick  suspicion.  He 
had  just  learnt  from  Miss  Vipen  of  Berwick's  solitar}' 
drive  with  Mrs.  Rebell.  But  the  remark  Mrs.  Kemp 
had  just  made  was  wholly  innocent  in  intention;  she 
never  dealt  in  innuendoes. 

"I  wish,"  he  said,  impulsively,  "  that  you  would  get 
to  know  Mrs.  Rebell  !  Everyone  else  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood has  called  on  her ;  have  you  any  reason  for 
not  doing  so?  " 

She  hesitated,  then  said  slowly,  "  N-o.  No  real 
reason,  except,  of  course,  that  we  have  never  received, 
during  all  the  years  we  have  been  here,  any  mark  of 
attention  or  civility  from  Madame  Sampiero,  whose 
tenants  after  all  we  are.  Also  I  fancied,  from  some- 
thing that  Doctor  McKirdy  said,  that  Mrs.  Rebell  did 
not  wish  to  make  many  acquaintances  in  the  neighbour- 
hood." 

"  It's  a  great  pity,  for  she  must  feel  very  lonely,  and 
I'm  sure  it  would  be  much  to  her  to  have  such  friends 
as  yourself,  and  as — as  Lucy." 

The  mother's  heart  hardened;  Mrs.  Kemp  was  no 
gossip,  but  she  knew  how  much  time  Oliver  had  spent 
at  the  Priory  during  the  fortnight  Mrs.  Boringdon  had 
been  away. 

"  Yes,  she  must  be  rather  lonely,"  and  then  she  could 
not  help  adding,  "  but  you  are  a  great  deal  over  there, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

His  answer  made  her  feel  ashamed  of  what  she  had 
said.  "  I  am  over  there  most  days,  but  she  cannot 
make  a  companion,  a  friend,  of  a  man,  as  she  could  of 
you  or  of  Lucy."  Now  surely  was  his  opportunity  for 
saying  what  he  had  come  to  say,  but  he  found  the  task 


BARBARA   REBELL.  251 

he  had  set  himself  demanded  a  bluntness,  a  crudity  of 
speech,  that  was  almost  intolerable  to  him. 

"  Mrs.  Kemp,  may  I  speak  frankly  to  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  strong  note  of  appeal  in  the  speaker's 
voice.  Mrs.  Kemp  gave  him  a  quick,  anxious  look,  and 
took  her  knitting  off  the  table.  "  Certainly,  frankness 
is  always  best,"  she  said,  then  wondered  with  beating 
heart  what  he  was  about  to  tell  her.  She  had  felt, 
during  the  last  few  minutes,  that  Boringdon  was  only 
marking  time.  He  was  once  more  on  his  old  terms  of 
friendship  with  Lucy,  indeed,  the  girl  had  lunched  at 
Chancton  Cottage  that  very  day.  But  his  next  words 
shattered  Mrs.  Kemp's  dream,  and  that  most  rudely. 

"  I  want  you  to  call  on  Mrs.  Rebell,"  he  was  saying 
in  a  low  eager  tone,  "and  to  come  really  to  know 
her,  because — well,  because  I  fear  she  is  in  some  danger. 
It  isn't  a  matter  one  wants  to  discuss,  but  James 
Berwick  is  constantly  at  the  Priory,  and  his  visits  there 
are  already  being  talked  about  in  the  neighbourhood. 
She  is,  as  you  know,  a  friend  of  my  sister,  and  I  feel  a 
certain  responsibility  in  the  matter.  Someone  ought  to 
put  her  on  her  guard." 

Mrs.  Kemp  put  down  her  work  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  steady,  disconcerting  look  of  surprise.  He  no 
longer  felt  sure,  as  he  had  done  a  moment  ago,  of  her 
sympathy,  but  he  met  her  glance  with  a  dogged 
courage.  He  cared  so  little  what  she  thought;  the 
great  point  was  to  enlist  her  help.  Boringdon  had 
known  her  do  really  quixotic  things  with  reference  to 
certain  village  matters  and  scandals — and  always  with 
healing  results. 

It  is  fortunate  that  we  cannot  see  into  each  other's 
minds.  What  would  Oliver  have  felt  had  he  become 
aware  of  the  feeling,  half  of  dislike,  half  of  pity,  with 
which  he  was  being  regarded  at  that  moment  by  the 


252  BARBARA   REBELL. 

woman  to  whom  he  had  made  his  appeal  ?  Mrs.  Kemp 
withdrew  her  eyes  from  his  face;  it  was  possible, — just 
possible, — that  it  was  as  he  said,  and  that  he  was 
animated  by  worthy  and  impersonal  motives.  Berwick 
was  not  a  man  with  an  absolutely  good  reputation  as 
regarded  women  ;  his  position,  too,  was  a  singular  one, 
— of  so  much  even  Mrs.  Kemp  was  aware. 

"  As  you  have  spoken  frankly  to  mc,  so  will  I  speak 
frankly  to  you,"  she  said.  "  I  have  never  known  any 
good  come  from  interfering, — or  rather  I  have  never 
known  any  good  come  from  speaking,  in  such  a  case,  to 
the  woman.  The  person  to  reach  is  Mr.  Berwick.  If 
he  is  indeed  compromising  Mrs.  Rebel!,  he  is  doing  a 
very  wrong  and  treacherous  thing,  not  only  to  her,  but 
to  Madame  Sampicro,  who  has  always  been,  so  I  under- 
stand, especially  kind  to  him.  Still,  you  must  remem- 
ber that,  long  before  this  lady  came  here,  he  was 
constantly  at  the  Priory.  Also,  may  I  say  that,  if  your 
information  as  to  the  gossip  about  them  comes  from 
Miss  Vipcn,  its  source  is  tainted  ?  I  never  believe  a 
word  she  says  about  anything  or  anybody  !  " 

"  Miss  Vipcn  did  certainly  say  something — she  had 
heard " 

"  What  had  she  heard  ?  " 

"That  Berwick  drove  back  with  her" — Mrs.  Kemp 
noticed  the  use  of  the  pronoun — "  alone,  the  night  of 
the  ball,  and  that  they  sat  up,  talking,  till  morning,  in 
the  hall  of  the  Priory.  No  wonder  Mrs.  Rebell  still  feels 
tired  !  "     The  speaker  had  gone  grey  in  the  lamplight. 

"  Well,  that  story  is  false,  vilely  false  !  I  do  not 
know  how,  or  with  whom,  Mrs.  Rebell  came  home ; 
but  by  an  odd  chance  I  do  happen  to  know  that 
Mr.  Bersvick  went  straight  from  Halnakeham  to  Chil- 
lingworth,  and  that  he  was  there  in  the  morning.  His 
coachman's  wife,  who  is  staying  here  in  Chancton  with 


BARBARA   REBELL.  253 

her  parents,  was  taken  ill  that  night.  I  was  there  by 
six  the  next  morning — perhaps  you  know  that  the  poor 
baby  died — and  the  man  told  me  that  he  had  driven 
his  master  home,  and  that  he  would  send  him  over  a 
message  asking  leave  to  stay  with  his  wife.  Mr. 
Berwick  is  a  very  good  master,  they  seem  all  devoted 

to  him "     Then,  struck  by  his  look,  "  Surely  you 

believe  me  ?  Do  you  put  Miss  Vipen's  piece  of  spiteful 
gossip  against  what  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Boringdon  hesitated.  "  I  don't  know  what  to 
believe,"  he  said.     "James  Berwick,  when  conducting 

an  intrigue,  is  capable  of — of " 

"  If  you  think  so  ill  of  Mrs.  Rebell  as  that 1 " 

"  But  I  don't ! "  he  cried  hastily,  "  indeed  I  don't ! 
It  is  Berwick,  only  Berwick,  that  I  blame  in  this 
matter.  I  think  Mrs.  Rebell  is  wholly  innocent  I  I 
feel  for  her  the  greatest  respect !  She  is  incapable,  I 
feel  sure,  of  a  wrong  thought," — he  spoke  with  growing 
agitation.  "  But  think  of  the  whole  circumstances — 
of  Madame  Sampiero's  past  life,  of  Mrs.  Rebell's  present 
position  !  Can  you  wonder  that  I  feel  sure  your  friend- 
ship, even  your  countenance,  might  make  a  great 
difference?  But  pray," — he  got  up,  and  looked  at  Mrs. 
Kemp  very  earnestly, — "  pray  do  not  suppose  I  think 
ill  of  Mrs.  Rebell !  Were  it  so,  should  I  suggest  that 
you — that  Lucy — should  make  a  friend  of  her  ?  "  and 
wringing  her  hand  he  left  the  room,  eager  to  escape 
before  the  return  of  General  Kemp  and  his  daughter. 

There  are  times  when  the  presence  of  even  the  best- 
loved  and  most  trusted  grown-up  son  or  daughter  could 
be  well  spared  by  father  and  mother.  Mrs.  Kemp, 
during  the  evening  which  followed  Oliver's  afternoon 
call,  thought  constantly  of  the  conversation  she  had 
held  with  him,   and  she  longed   to  tell  her   husband 


254  BARBARA   REBELL. 

what  had  passed.  Men  were  such  strange,  such 
inexplicable  beings  !  Doubtless  Tom  would  be  able  to 
reassure  her  as  to  Oliver  Boringdon's  interest  in  this 
Mrs.  Rebell,  whose  charm  had  won  over  Lucy  too,  for 
the  girl  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  beauty  and  of 
the  kindness  of  Madame  Sampiero's  god-daughter. 
But  nothing  could  be  said  in  the  presence  of  Lucy,  who 
had  regained,  during  the  last  day  or  two,  her  old 
lightness  of  heart  and  manner,  and  who  showed  no 
wish  to  go  early  to  bed. 

At  last  Mrs.  Kemp  went  up  alone,  and  when,  an  hour 
later,  the  General  followed  her,  and  she  had  the  longed- 
for  opportunity  of  telling  her  tale,  her  listener  proved 
most  irritatingly  quiescent.  He  went  in  and  out  of  his 
drebsing-room,  saying  "Yes,"  and  "That's  it,  is  it?" 
at  suitable  intervals.  Still,  when  she  stopped  speaking, 
he  would  suddenly  appear  in  some  leisurely  state  of 
dcshabilU  and  his  wife  would  feel  encouraged,  to  go  on, 
and  even  to  ask  for  his  opinion  and  advice. 

"And  now,  Tom,  what  do  you  really  think  of  the 
whole  matter  ?  " 

General  Kemp  came  and  stood  before  the  fire.  He 
wore  his  dressing-gown, — a  sure  sign  that  he  was  ready 
for  discussion,  if  discussion  should  prove  necessary. 

"Well,  Mary,  what  I  really  think  can  be  put  in  a 
very  few  words."  He  advanced  till  he  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  large  four-poster,  and,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  declaimed  the  lines  : — 

•'  *  And  it  was  you,  my  Berwick,  you  ! 

The  friend  in  whom  my  soul  confided  t 
Who  dared  to  gaze  on  her — to  do, 
I  may  say,  much  the  same  as  I  did!  "* 

"  Oh !  Tom,  you  should  not  make  fun  of  such  a 
serious  matter,"  but  Mrs.  Kemp  could  not  help 
smiling — the  lines  were  indeed  apt. 


BARBARA  REBELL.  355 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  else  is  there  to  say  ?  I  can't 
say  I  should  be  sorry  if  Boringdon  were  to  burn  his 
wings  a  bit !  I  hate  your  fellow  who  is  always  trying 
to  set  the  world  straight.  To  take  his  information 
from  Miss  Vipen  too — !"  The  General  had  also 
heard  of  Oliver's  renewed  interest  in  the  Priory,  and 
his  wife's  talk  had  not  surprised  him  quite  as  much  as 
she,  in  the  innocence  of  her  heart,  expected  it  to  do. 
*'  Berwick,  from  what  you  tell  me,  and  from  what  I 
hear,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "knows  what  he's 
after,  and  that's  more  than  your  friend  Boringdon  seems 
to  do!  I  hate  a  man  who  goes  dangling  after  a  woman 
for  her  good ;  that's  what  he  told  you,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  something  rather  like  it;  but  I  think  better 
of  him  than  you  do,  Tom." 

"  They  generally  get  caught  at  last."  General  Kemp 
gave  a  quick,  short  sigh  :  **  and  then  comes — unless 
the  chap's  as  clever  as  Boringdon  doubtless  means  to 
be — pretty  heavy  punishment,  eh,  Mary  ?  " 

And  he  went  off  back  into  his  dressing-room,  and 
Mrs.  Kemp,  turning  on  her  side,  wet  her  pillow  with 
sudden  bitter  tears. 

Some  days  later  Lucy  and  her  mother  called  at  the 
Priory,  only  to  be  informed  that  Mrs.  Rebell  was  at 
Fletchings,  staying  there  as  the  guest  of  Lord  Bosworth 
and  Miss  Berwick  till  the  following  Saturday.  This 
then, — so  thought  Mrs.  Kemp  with  a  quick  revulsion  of 
feeling, — was  why  Boringdon  now  found  time  hang 
so  heavy  on  his  hands,  and  why  he  had  been,  of  late, 
so  often  at  the  Grange.  Life,  even  at  Chancton,  was 
full  of  inexplicable  cross  currents, — of  deep  pools  and 
eddies  more  likely  to  bring  shipwreck  than  safe  haven 
to  the  creature  whom  she  loved  so  dearly,  and  for  whom 
she  felt  that  responsibility  which  only  mothers  know. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

•But  as  we  walked  we  turned  aside 
Into  a  narrow  tortuous  lane 
Where  baffling  paths  the  roads  divida 
And  jealous  bnunbles  prick  to  pain  ; 
Then  first  1  saw,  with  quick  surprise, 
The  strange  new  look  in  friendship's  eye* 

**And  now,  in  one  stupendous  dream, 

"We  wander  through  the  purple  glade^ 
Which  love  has  tinted  with  the  gleam 

Of  wonderful,  enchanting  shades  : 
But  I — would  give  it  all  away 
For  those  dear  hours  of  friendship's  day.* 

Eleanor  Esher. 

Mrs.  Rebell  had  now  been  at  Fletchings  five  days. 
It  was  Saturday  night — in  three  days  more  she  would 
be  back  at  Chancton. 

Standing  before  her  dressing-table,  she  found  herself 
counting  the  last  hours  of  a  holiday  which  had  proved 
more  enchanting  than  she  had  thought  possible.  How 
sorry  she  would  be  to  leave  the  curious  pretty  room  in 
which  she  found  herself!  This  room,  and  that  next 
door  now  turned  into  a  dressing-room,  had  been  fitted 
up  when  the  wonders  of  China  were  first  becoming 
known  to  the  Western  world.  It  was  instinct  with  the 
strange  charm  so  often  found  in  those  old  English 
country  houses  where  Christendom  and  Goblindom 
fight  for  mastery. 

The  greatest  poet  of  his  time  had  spent  at  Fletchings 
the  honeymoon  which  formed  a  beginning  to  the  most 


BARBARA   REBELL.  257 

disastrous  of  marriage  tragedies;  and  Septimus  Daman, 
now  Barbara's  fellow  guest,  had  managed  to  convey  to 
her  his  belief  that  the  rooms  which  she  now  occupied 
had  been  those  set  aside  for  the  hapless  pair.  Was  it 
here,  so  Barbara  wondered — here,  or  perhaps  sitting  at 
the  lacquer  table  in  the  dressing-room — that  the  bride 
had  written  the  formal,  yet  wholly  contented,  letter  to 
her  parents,  with  its  concluding  sentence :  **  I  cannot 
tell  you  any  more  for  Lord  Byron  is  looking  over  my 
shoulder  1 " — playful,  intimate  words,  written  by  the 
proud,  headstrong  girl  who  was  to  lead  a  later  life  of 
such  harsh  bitterness. 

Barbara  felt  a  vague  retrospective  pity  for  the  long- 
dead  writer  of  these  words.  How  far  superior  is  friend- 
ship to  what  people  call  love  I  Every  day  she  was 
proving  the  truth  of  this,  her  own,  and — yes,  her 
friend's — discovery. 

After  those  five  perfect  days,  it  seemed  strange  to 
remember  that  she  had  wondered  if  she  were  acting 
rightly  in  accepting  Miss  Berwick's  invitation.  There 
had  not  been  much  time  for  thought.  The  note  had 
come  only  two  days  after  the  ball  at  Halnakeham 
Castle,  and,  as  she  held  it  in  her  hand,  before  telling 
any  of  those  about  her  of  its  contents,  there  had  swept 
over  Barbara  Rebell  a  foreboding  memory.  Was  she 
about  to  expose  herself  to  a  repetition  of  what  she  had 
gone  through  during  those  first  hours  at  the  ball  ?  Was 
she  to  see  Berwick  avoiding  her  company, — gazing  at 
her,  when  he  looked  her  way,  with  alien  eyes  ? 

But  then  Berwick  himself  had  come,  full  of  eager- 
ness, and  with  his  abrupt  first  words — "  Has  Arabella 
written  ?  That's  right  1 — I  think  you  will  like  it.  My 
uncle  wants  me  to  be  over  there  in  order  to  see  some- 
thing of  Daniel  O' Flaherty,  and  we  are  also  to  have 
old  Septimus    Daman;    he    always    spends    part    of 

B.R.  8 


258  BARBARA   REBELL. 

November  at  Fletchings  " — her  fears,  her  scruples  had 
vanished. 

Just  before  leaving  the  Priory,  Barbara's  heart  had 
again  misgiven  her.  Madame  Sampicro,  looking  at  her 
with  the  wide-open,  dark-blue  eyes  which  could  express 
so  many  shades  of  feeling,  had  murmured,  "  Do  not  be 
too  long  away,  child.  Remember  what  befell  the  poor 
Beast  when  Beauty  stayed  away  too  long!"  How 
could  she  have  had  the  heart  to  write,  on  the  second 
day  of  her  visit,  "They  want  me  to  stay  on  till 
Tuesday"? 

And  now  it  was  Saturday  night.  In  a  few  days  she 
would  again  take  up  the  life  which  till  so  very  lately 
had  seemed  to  fulfil  each  aspiration,  to  content  every 
onging  of  her  heart.  Now,  she  found  herself  dreading 
her  god-mother's  glances  of  uneasy,  questioning  tender- 
ness ;  Mrs.  Turke's  eager  interest  in  Berwick's  comings 
and  goings  ;  most  of  all,  and  for  reasons  of  which 
her  mind  avoided  the  analysis,  Barbara  shrank  from 
the  return  to  the  long  mornings — they  had  become 
very  long  of  late — spent  by  Boringdon  at  the  Priory. 

In  contrast  to  all  that  awaited  Mrs.  Rebell  at 
Chancton,  how  happy  these  few  days  at  Fletchings 
had  been !  With  the  possible  exception  of  Daniel 
O'Flaherty — and,  after  all,  both  he  and  Arabella  knew 
better — the  six  people  gathered  there  under  Lord 
Bosworth's  roof,  were  linked  in  close  bonds  of  old 
and  new  friendship,  of  old  and  new  association. 

Barbara  could  tell  herself  in  all  honesty  that  she 
did  not  seem  to  see  ver>'  much  of  James  Berwick,  and 
yet,  in  truth,  they  were  much  together,  he  encom- 
passing her  with  a  depth  of  voiceless  tenderness,  and 
a  devotion  so  unobtrusive  that  it  seemed  to  lack  every 
gross  element  of  self.  Then  again,  her  host  had  been 
especially  kind.     To   Lord   Bosworth  she  had  been 


BARBARA   REBELL.  259 

**  Barbara  "  from  the  first,  and  during  that  week  he 
had  talked  much  to  her  of  that  vdde  world  in  which 
he  himself  had  played  so  noted  and  agreeable  a  part ; 
of  her  own  parents  as  they  had  been  during  the 
unshadowed  years  of  their  life  ;  of  present  politics 
which  he  had  soon  discovered  interested  her  in  a 
singular  degree.  One  day  he  had  exclaimed — and  had 
been  surprised  to  see  the  \a\'id  blush  his  words  called 
forth — '•'  Wh}',  we  shall  make  a  politician  of  you  yet !  " 
During  those  days,  however, — and  the  omission  pained 
her, — Lord  Bosworth  made  no  allusion  to  Madame 
Sampiero. 

Perhaps,  of  all  those  at  Fletchings,  the  most  contented 
of  the  party  was  Septimus  Daman.  Because  he 
seemed  to  each  of  the  others  the  odd  man  out,  they 
were  all  particularly  kind  to  him,  and  eager  that  he 
should  not  feel  himself  neglected.  The  old  man  did 
not,  however,  burden  his  fellow-guests  with  much  01 
his  company,  for  he  was  busily  engaged  in  writirg 
his  recollections,  and  he  rarely  made  his  appearance 
downstairs  before  the  afternoon. 

To-day,  quite  suddenly  and  for  no  apparent  reason, 
Berwick's  mcod  had  changed.  Arabella  was  the  first 
to  become  aware  of  it ;  she  knew  of  old  the  danger 
signals.  The  day  had  been  spent  by  him  and  by 
O" Flaherty'  at  Laxgrove,  where  Squire  Lazton  was 
as  proud  of  his  coverts  as  of  his  hounds.  The  two  men 
came  in  wet  and  tired,  and  Berwick,  after  a  long  firuit- 
less  search  for  his  sister  and  Mi^.  Rebell,  at  last  found 
them  sitting  together  where  Arabella  so  seldom  enter- 
tained a  guest — in  the  powder  closet. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Daman  is  wandering  about  downstairs, 
evidently   afraid   to   pour  himself  out   a   cup  of  tea 


26o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

and  O'Flaherty  has  disappeared, — tealess, — to  his 
room ! " 

While  he  was  speaking,  gazing  at  his  sister  and 
her  friend  with  an  accusing  glance,  Barbara  went 
out,  and  for  a  moment  the  other  two  stayed  on  alone 
together. 

Arabella  rose  and  faced  her  brother.  Her  own 
nerves  were  not  wholly  under  control.  Neither  her 
conscience  nor  her  heart  was  really  at  ease. 

**  I  don't  know,  James,  and  I  don't  inquire,  what  your 
relations  to  Mrs.  Rebell  may  be !  But  this  I  do  know 
— you  will  not  advance  your  friendship  with  her  by 
being  savage  to  me.  Besides,  it  is  so  absurd !  How- 
ever delightful  she  finds  your  company,  she  may  yet 
prefer  to  be  occasionally  with  me.  I  have  been  doing 
— I  am  doing — all  I  can  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Berwick's  steady,  angry  gaze  disconcerted  his  sister, 
but  she  was  mentally  adroit,  and  determined  not  to  fear 
him  in  his  present  mood. 

"  You  know  best  what  I  ought  to  mean  !  "  she  cried. 
"You  apparently  take  pleasure  in  Mrs.  Rebell's  com- 
pany, and  it  was  to  please  you  that  I  asked  her  to 
come  here.  I  mean  nothing  else.  But  I  should  like 
to  add  that,  now  I  know  her,  I  have  grown  to  like, 
and  even  to  respect  her."  Berwick's  face  softened, 
but  again  he  looked  at  her  in  the  way  she  dreaded 
as  she  added,  "  I  do  not  think  you  should  act  so  as 
to  make  those  about  you  aware  that  you  so  greatly 
prefer  her  company  to  that  of  our  other  guests.  I 
am  sure  Mr.  O'Flaherty  has  noticed  it.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  add  that  I  am  speaking  entirely  for  her  sake." 

On  leaving  Miss  Berwick  and  her  brother,  Mrs. 
Rebell  went  up  to  her  room.      There  she  sat  down  and 


BARBARA   REBELL.  261 

fulfilled  a  neglected  duty, — the  writing  of  a  long  letter 
to  Grace  Johnstone,  She  did  not  find  the  task  an 
easy  one.  She  knew  that  her  friend  would  expect  to 
be  told  much  of  the  occupants  of  Chancton  Cottage, 
and  especially  of  Oliver.  The  writer  was  well  aware 
how  letters  were  treasured  at  Santa  Maria,  and, 
till  the  last  fortnight  she  had  written  to  the  woman 
who  had  been  so  good  a  friend  to  her  by  every  mail. 
Suddenly  she  bethought  herself  of  the  ball.  Why, 
here  was  a  subject  all  ready  to  her  pen  1  But  Barbara 
was  no  polite  letter-writer,  and  she  found  the  descrip- 
tion difficult ;  especially  did  her  references  to  Oliver  and 
to  his  mother  seem  hypocritical.  During  those  hours 
at  Halnakeham  Castle  she  had  been  scarcely  aware 
of  the  young  man's  existence,  while  Mrs.  Boringdon  she 
actually  disliked. 

One  reason  why  Barbara  had  been  glad  to  come  to 
Fletchings  had  been  that  it  meant  escape  from  Boring- 
don's  constant  presence  at  the  Priory,  and  the  daily 
morning  walk  with  him  to  the  home  farm.  She 
had  come  to  resent  Oliver's  assumption  of — was  it 
brotherly  ? — interest  in  what  she  did  and  left  undone. 
The  thought  that  in  three  days  she  would  again  be 
subject  to  his  well-meant  criticism  and  eager,  intimate 
advice  certainly  added  another  and  a  curiously  acute 
touch  of  discomfort  to  her  return  to  Chancton. 

For  the  first  time  since  Mrs.  Rebell's  stay  at 
Fletchings,  dinner,  served  in  a  blue  and  white  octagon 
room  which  seemed  to  have  been  designed  to  serve 
as  background  to  Miss  Berwick's  fair,  delicate  type 
of  beauty,  passed  almost  silently  and  rather  dully. 
Berwick  and  O'Flaherty,  tired  after  their  long  day  in 
the  open  air,  scarcely  spoke ;  Mr.  Daman  alone  seemed 
entirely  at  ease,  and  he  babbled  away  happily,  trying  to 


26a  BARBARA   REBELL. 

extract  material  for  his  recollections  from  Lord  Bos- 
worth's  better  garnished  memory. 

And  so  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  Barbara 
followed  her  hostess  out  of  the  room.  During  the  last 
few  days  the  two  women  had  become,  in  a  sense, 
intimate.  Each  liked  the  other  better  than  either 
would  have  thought  possible  a  week  before.  They  had 
one  subject  in  common  of  which  neither  ever  tired,  and 
yet  how  surprised  they  both  would  have  been  to  learn 
how  constantly  their  talk  drifted  to  the  political  past, 
the  uneventful  present,  the  brilliant  nebulous  future,  of 
James  Berwick ! 

Arabella  led  the  way  up  to  the  music  gallery,  and 
there,  very  soon,  the  two  younger  men  joined  them. 

Miss  Berwick  was  sitting  at  an  inlaid  spinet,  playing 
an  old-fashioned,  jingling  selection  of  Irish  melodies, 
and  O'Flaherty,  taking  up  his  stand  by  the  fire-place, 
was  able  to  look  down  at  the  player  without  seeming  to 
do  so. 

Listening  to  the  woman  he  had  loved  making  music 
for  him,  Daniel  O'Flaherty's  mind  went  back,  setting 
out  on  a  sentimental  excursion,  dolorous  as  such  are  apt 
to  be,  into  the  past.  No  other  woman's  lips  had 
touched  his  since  their  last  interview,  thirteen  years 
before ;  and  yet,  standing  there,  his  arm  on  the  mantel- 
piece, his  right  hand  concealing  his  large  rather  stern 
mouth,  he  told  himself  that  his  love  for  Arabella  Ber- 
wick had  burned  itself  out,  and  that  he  could  now  look 
at  her  quite  dispassionately. 

Still,  love  may  go,  and  interest, — even  a  certain  kind 
of  sentiment, — may  remain.  What  else  had  brought 
him  to  Fletchings  ?  Above  all,  what  else  had  made 
him  stay  on  there,  as  he  was  now  doing  ?  O'Flaherty 
still  felt  an  odd  closeness  of  heart, — aye,  even  of  body, — 

Miss  Berwick,  to  this  woman  whom  others  found  so 


BARBARA  REBELL.  263 

unapproachable.  The  years  which  had  gone  by,  the 
long  separation,  had  not  made  them  strangers.  After 
she  had  left  him,  as  he  thought  so  cruelly,  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  put  away  all  thought  of  her.  He  had 
believed  it  certain  that  she  would  marry — indeed, 
during  that  last  interview  she  had  told  him  that  she 
intended  to  do  so — and  thinking  of  this,  to  a  man  so 
callous  and  incredible  a  statement,  his  heart  had 
.hardened,  not  only  to  her,  but  in  a  sense  to  all  women. 

Then  time  had  gone  on,  and  Lord  Bosworth's  niece 
jhad  remained  unmarried — wholly  devoted,  so  said 
rumour,  to  her  brother,  but  living  with  her  uncle 
instead  of  with  James  Berwick  because  of  her  filial 
[affection  and  gratitude  to  the  older  man.  That 
P'Flaherty  had  known  not  to  be  true,  for  no  special  tie 
bound  Arabella  to  her  uncle.  The  arrangement  was 
probably  one  of  convenience  on  either  side. 

And  now,  during  these  last  few  days  ?  O'Flaherty 
acknowledged  that  Miss  Berwick's  manner  to  him  had 
been  perfect — courteous  and  kind,  nay,  even  deferential, 
and  then  sometimes  a  look,  a  word,  would  subtly 
acknowledge  his  claim  on  her  special  attention,  while 
putting  forward  none  of  her  own.  How  could  he  help 
being  flattered  ?  From  where  he  now  sat,  he  could 
see,  without  seeming  to  observe  too  closely,  the  delicate, 
cameo-like  profile,  the  masses  of  flaxen  hair,  less  bright 
in  tint  than  when  he  had  first  admired  what  was  still 
Arabella's  greatest  beauty. 

The  barrister  was  under  no  illusion  as  to  why  he  had 
received  this  invitation  to  Lord  Bosworth's  country 
house.  His  present  host,  and  of  course  his  hostess, 
wished  him  not  merely  to  be  on  James  Berwick's  side 
in  the  coming  political  struggle,  for  that  he  was 
already,  but  to  ally  himself  in  a  special  sense  with  this 
future  Cabinet  Minister,  and  to  join  the  inner  circle  of 


264  BARBARA   REBELL. 

his  friends  and  supporters.  Neither  of  them  yet  under- 
stood that  in  poHticsall  O'Flaherty  cared  for  supremely 
was  his  own  country,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
always  sat  for  an  English  constituency,  and  had  never 
identified  himself,  in  any  direct  sense,  with  the  Irish 
party.  Whatever  his  future  relations  to  Miss  Berwick 
might  be,  his  attitude  to  her  brother  must  be  influenced 
by  Berwick's  attitude  to  Ireland  and  Irish  affairs. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  more  honest,  so  he  told  himselt 
to-night,  to  let  Arabella  know  this  fact,  for  during  the 
last  few  days  he  had  avoided  any  political  discussion 
with  his  host  or  his  hostess. 

Daniel  O'Flaherty  had  watched  James  Berwick's 
career  with  painful  interest.  During  his  brief,  passionate 
intimacy  with  the  sister,  the  young  Irishman  had  dis- 
liked the  brother  intensely.  He  had  despised  him  for 
squandering, — as  for  a  while  Berwick  had  seemed  to  do, 
— his  many  brilliant  gifts.  Perhaps  O'Flaherty  had 
also  been  jealous  of  those  advantages  which  came  to  the 
younger  man  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  name,  and  of  his 
relationship  to  Lord  Bosworth. 

Then,  with  the  passing  of  years,  the  barrister  had 
become,  as  the  successful  are  apt  to  do,  more  indulgent, 
perhaps  more  understanding,  in  his  view  of  the  other's 
character  and  ambitions.  Also  nothing  succeeds  like 
success,  and  James  Berwick  had  himself  by  no  means 
lagged  behind.  To  O'Flaherty  there  had  been  nothing 
untoward  in  Berwick's  marriage.  He  had  regarded 
it  as  one  of  those  strokes  of  amazing  luck  which 
seem  to  pursue  certain  men  ;  and  though  a  trifling 
circumstance  had  made  the  barrister  vividly  aware 
of  the  young  politician's  conditional  tenure  of  his  dead 
wife's  fortune,  the  man  who  had  fought  his  way  to 
eminence  naturally  regarded  the  other  as  belonging  to 
that   class   which    seems   in   this   country   sufficiently 


BARBARA   REBELL.  265 

wealthy,  with  the  garnered  wealth  of  the  past,  to 
consider  the  possession  of  a  larger  or  of  a  lesser  income 
as  of  comparatively  small  account. 

Daniel  O' Flaherty  was  an  Irishman,  a  lonely  man, 
and  a  Roman  Catholic — thus  traditionally  interested  in 
romance.  And  so,  during  these  days  at  Fletchings, 
he  had  become  aware,  almost  in  spite  of  himself,  of 
Berwick's  evident  attraction  to  Mrs.  Rebell — to  the 
gentle,  intelligent  woman  whom  he,  O' Flaherty,  natu- 
rally regarded  as  Arabella's  widowed  friend.  It  amused 
him  to  see  the  course  of  true  love  running  smooth. 
What  amazing  good  fortune  seemed  to  pursue  James 
Berwick  ! 

True,  the  shrewder  half  of  O'Flaherty's  mind  warned 
him  that  Miss  Berwick's  action  in  deliberately  throwing 
her  brother  with  so  charming  a  woman  as  Barbara  was 
an  odd,  an  almost  unaccountable  move  on  her  part. 
But  there  was  no  getting  over  the  fact  that  she  was 
doing  this,  and  most  deliberately. 

Well,  all  that  money  could  do  for  Berwick  had  surely 
been  accomplished.  The  barrister,  watching  the  two 
— this  man  and  woman  wandering  in  a  paradise  of  their 
own  making — felt  that  Berwick  was  indeed  to  be  envied, 
even  if  he  was  on  the  eve  of  forfeiting  the  huge  income 
which  had  for  so  many  years  given  him  an  almost  unfair 
prestige  and  power  among  his  fellows.  Still,  now  and 
again, — to-night  for  instance,  when  he  became  aware  that 
Berwick  and  Mrs.  Rebell  had  retreated  together  to  the 
further  end  of  the  long,  bare  room, — he  wondered  if 
Arabella  was  acting  sentiently,  if  she  really  wished  her 
brother  to  marry  again. 

Mrs.  Rebell  and  the  man  she  called  her  friend  stood 
together,  half  concealed  by  the  organ  which  gave  the 
gallery  its  name.     They  were  practically  alone,  for  the 


266  BARBARA    REBELL. 

long  room  was  only  lighted  by  the  candles  which  threw 
a  wavering  light  on  Arabella's  music-book.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  arrived  at  Fletchings,  Barbara 
felt  ill  at  ease  with  her  companion.  Twice  during 
dinner  she  had  looked  up  and  seen  Berwick's  eyes  fixed 
on  her,  or  so  she  thought,  coldly  and  accusingly.  What 
had  she  done  ?     For  what  must  she  ask  forgiveness  ? 

"Where  were  you  before  dinner?"  he  said  at  last, 
in  a  low  voice.  **  I  looked  for  you  everywhere.  I 
found  you,  and  then  you  disappeared — utterly  I  We 
were  close  to  tlic  Priory  to-day,  and  I  went  in  for  a 
moment,  thinking  you  would  like  to  have  news  of 
Madame  Sampiero.  By  the  way,  McGregor  gave  me 
some  letters  for  you." 

He  put  two  envelopes  down  on  the  ledge  of  a  prie-dieu 
behind  which  Barbara  was  standing,  and  which  formed 
a  slight  barrier  between  them.  She  took  the  letters  in 
her  hand,  and  then,  partly  because  of  the  dim  light,  put 
them  back  again  on  the  prie-dieu.  One  note,  unstamped, 
was  from  Oliver  Boringdon,  —  she  knew  the  hand- 
writing, and  so  did  Berwick.  Barbara  was  to  have 
gone  back  to-day  ;  doubtless  this  note  concerned  some 
village  matter  which  the  writer  was  unwilling  to  men- 
tion to  Doctor  McKirdy.  The  other  envelope  bore  the 
peculiar  blue  West  Indian  stamp.  Why  had  not 
McGregor  kept  these  letters  till  Tuesday?  For  the 
moment  Barbara  wanted  to  forget  Boringdon  and  his 
rather  morbid  susceptibilities — to  forget,  till  her  next 
letter  to  the  Johnstones,  Santa  Maria. 

"  Won't  you  read  your  letters  ?  "  Berwick  was 
looking  straight  across  at  her  with  a  singular  expression 
— was  it  of  appeal  or  of  command  ? — in  his  eyes. 

"Why  should  I — now?"  But  a  moment  later  she 
changed  her  mind,  "  Yes,  of  course  I  will ;  Mr.  Boring- 
don  may  have  sent  some  message  to  my  god-mother 


BARBARA  REBELL.  267 

which  ought  to  be  seen  to  at  once "    She  opened  the 

note,  glanced  through  it,  then  put  it  down  on  the  ledge 
of  the  prie-dieu. 

Berwick  had  turned  away  while  she  read  Boringdon's 
note,  but  now  he  was  again  staring  at  her  with  those 
strange,  appealing  eyes  which  seemed  to  shine  in  the 
dim  light. 

Reluctantly,  as  if  in  spite  of  herself,  Barbara  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  took  up  the  other  letter.  Yes,  it  was, 
as  she  thought,  from  Andrew  Johnstone — a  bare  word 
of  kindly  acknowledgment  for  the  return  of  the  fifty 
pounds  which  he  had  lent  her. 

She  looked  round,  still  holding  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
but  they  were  far  from  the  fire — 

Berwick's  face  became  set.  Ah  I  no,  that  should  not 
be. 

"Mrs.  Rebell— ?" 

He  had  not  called  her  so,  to  herself,  since  the  drive 
back  from  Halnakeham  Castle,  and  she  had  not  noticed 
his  avoidance  of  her  name ;  but  now,  the  formal  mode 
of  address  fell  strangely  on  her  ears. 

"Yes?" 

"  May  I  read  these  two  letters  ?  '*  He  added,  almost 
inaudibly,  "  You  cannot  think  more  ill  of  me  than  I  do 
of  myself." 

Barbara  suddenly  felt  as  if  she  were  taking  part  in 
an  unreal  scene,  a  dream  colloquy,  and  yet  she  knew 
this  was  no  dream.  What  had  happened,  what  evil 
magic  had  so  transformed  her  friend  ?  That  maternal 
instinct  which  slumbers  lightly  in  the  depths  of  every 
woman's  heart,  woke  into  life ;  she  did  not  stay  to 
diagnose  the  disease  of  which  this  strange  request  was 
a  symptom :  "  Do  read  them,"  she  said,  and  tried  to 
speak  indifferently,  "  I  do  not  think  ill  of  you— far  from 
it,  as  Doctor  McKirdy  would  say," 


268  BARBARA   REBELL. 

She  put  Johnstone's  letter  down  by  the  other,  but 
Berwick  left  them  lying  there ;  he  still  looked  at  her 
with  a  probing,  suspicious  look,  and  she  began  to  be 
desperately  afraid.  At  Santa  Maria  she  had  once  met 
a  miserable  white  man,  the  overseer  of  a  neighbouring 
plantation,  who  was  said  to  have  suddenly  gone 
"  fantee  " — so  had  that  man  looked  at  her,  as  Berwick 
was  doing  now,  dumbly.  Was  this  what  he  had  meant 
when  he  had  spoken  to  her  in  the  carriage  of  un- 
governable impulses — of  actions  of  which  he  had 
afterwards  felt  bitterly  ashamed  ? 

Very  slowly,  still  looking  at  her,  he  at  last  took  up 
the  two  letters.  Then,  with  a  sudden  movement,  and 
without  having  looked  at  it,  he  put  Boringdon's  back 
on  the  ledge  of  the  prie-dieu.  "  No,"  he  said  roughly, 
"  not  that  one —  I  do  not  think  he  ought  to  write  to 
you,  but  no  matter  1  "  Barbara  felt  herself  trembling. 
She  was  beginning  to  understand.  Berwick's  hands 
fingered  nervously  the  West  Indian  letter;  at  last  he 
held  it  out  to  her,  still  folded,  in  his  hand.  "  Here  it 
is — take  it — I  won't  read  it  1  " 

"  Oh  1  but  do,"  she  said.  "  It  is  from  Mr.  Johnstone, 
saying  that  he  has  received  the  money  you  so  kindly 
arranged  to  send  back  for  me." 

But  Barbara's  words  came  too  late. 

"  Mr.  Johnstone  ? "  Berwick  repeated  the  name, 
then  laughed  harshly.  "  Fool  that  I  was  not  to  think 
of  him  !  But  all  to-day,  since  McGregor  gave  me  that 
letter,  I  have  been  in  hell.  Of  course  you  know  what 
I  believed  " —  Barbara's  lips  quivered,  and  her  look  of 
suffering  ought  to  have  disarmed  the  man  who  was 
staring  at  her  so  insistently,  but  he  was  still  possessed 
by  a  jealous  devil.  "  Tell  me  " — and,  leaning  over 
the  prie-dieu,  he  grasped  her  hands — "  We  may  as 
Well  have  it  out  now.     Do  you  hear  from  him — from 


BARBARA   REBELL.  269 

your   husband,    I    mean?     Do    you  write  to  him — 

sometimes  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  Berwick,  at  last  free  to  see 
the  agony  and  surrender  in  the  face  into  which  he  was 
looking  down,  and  to  which  he  suddenly  felt  his  lips  so 
near,  was  swept  by  an  irresistible  rush  and  mingling  of 
feelings — remorse  and  fierce  relief,  shame  and  exultant 

joy- 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  go  downstairs," — Arabella's  clear 
voice  broke  into  and  echoed  through  the  silent  room, 

Berwick  straightened  himself  slowly.  Before  releas- 
ing Barbara's  hands  he  kissed  first  one  and  then  the 
other.  As  he  did  so,  passion  seemed  to  melt  into 
tenderness.  How  fragile,  how  childish  he  had  thought 
the  fingers  resting  on  his  arm  that  first  evening  of  their 
acquaintance  !  He  remembered  also  the  fluttering,  the 
trembling  of  her  ringless  left  hand  when  for  a  moment 
he  had  covered  it  with  his  own  during  that  drive  from 
Halnakeham  to  Chillingworth,  when  he  had  made  so 
much — or  was  it  so  little  ?— of  his  opportunity. 

The  two  walked  down  the  gallery,  towards  O'Flaherty, 
who  was  still  standing  by  the  wood  fire,  and  Arabella, 
who  was  putting  out  the  candles  with  the  rather 
disdainful  thoroughness  and  care  she  gave  to  small 
household  matters.  Lord  Bosworth's  servants  were 
old,  like  himself,  and  grew  unmindful  of  their  duties. 

Berwick  suddenly  left  Mrs.  Rebell's  side,  but  not 
till  he  had  reached  the  door  did  he  turn  round  and  say, 
"  I  am  not  coming  down,  for  I  have  work  to  do,  so 
good-night !  "  A  moment  after,  he  was  gone,  with  no 
more  formal  leave-taking. 

That  night  Barbara  cried  herself  to  sleep,  but  to  her 
tears  brought  no  relief — rather  an  added  shame  for  the 
weakness  which  made  them  flow  so  bitterly.     She  felt 


270  BARBARA   REBELL. 

overwhelmed  by  a  great  calamity — face  to  face  with  a 
situation  out  of  which  she  must  herself,  unaided,  find 
an  issue. 

She  had  asked  so  little  of  the  shattered  broken  life 
which  remained  to  her — only  quietude  and  the  placid 
enjoyment  of  a  friendship  which  had  come  to  her 
unsought,  and  in  which  there  could  be  no  danger, 
whatever  Madame  Sampiero  or  Mrs.  Turke  might 
think.  Did  not  the  feeling  which  bound  her  to  James 
Berwick  enjoy  the  tacit  approval  of  such  a  woman  as 
was  Arabella  Berwick  ?  What  else  had  made  Mis? 
Berwick  say  to  her,  as  she  had  done,  that  her  brother 
could  never  marry  ?  Surely  the  words  had  been 
uttered  with  intention,  to  show  Mrs.  Rebell  how 
desirable  it  was  that  he  should  have — friends  ? 

Till  to-night,  love,  to  Barbara  Rebell,  had  borne  but 
two  faces.  The  one,  that  of  the  radiant  shadow-like 
figure,  half  cupid  half  angel,  of  her  childhood  and  girl- 
hood, was  he  who  had  played  his  happy  part  in  the  love 
affair  of  her  father  and  mother,  binding  them  the  one 
to  the  other  as  she,  Barbara,  had  seen  them  bound.  It 
was  this  love — noble,  selfless,  unmaterial  in  its  essence, 
or  so  she  had  thought — that  lighted  up  Madame 
Sampiero's  face  when  she  spoke,  as  she  sometimes  did 
speak,  in  the  same  quivering  breath,  of  Lord  Bosworth 
and  her  little  Julia. 

Love's  other  face,  that  which  she  shuddered  to  know 
existed,  had  been  revealed  to  her  by  Pedro  Rebell.  It 
was  base,  sensual,  cunning,  volatile,  inconstant  in  its 
very  essence,  and  yet,  as  Barbara  knew,  love  after  all — 
capable,  for  a  fleeting  moment,  of  ennobling  those  under 
its  influence.  Such,  for  instance,  was  love  as  under- 
stood by  the  coloured  people,  among  whom  she  had  spent 
these  last  years  of  her  life,  and  with  whose  elementary 
joys  and  sorrows  she  had  perforce  sympathised. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  271 

Now,  to-night,  she  realised  that  love  could  come  in 
yet  a  third  guise — nay,  for  the  first  time  she  saw  that 
perhaps  this  was  the  only  true  love  of  them  all,  and 
that  her  first  vision  of  the  passion  had  been  but  its 
shadow.  Some  such  feeling  as  that  which  now,  she 
felt  with  terror,  possessed  her  body  as  well  as  her  soul, 
must  have  made  her  mother  cling  as  she  had  clung,  in 
no  joyless  way,  to  sombre,  disgraced  Richard  Rebell. 

Love  again — warm,  tender,  passionate  love — had 
linked  together  Lord  Bosworth  and  Barbara  Sampiero 
for  so  many  years,  and  had  found  expression  in  their 
child.  Thinking  of  those  last  two,  Barbara  lay  and 
trembled.  Bitter  words  of  condemnation  uttered  by 
her  father  leapt  from  the  storehouse  of  memory,  as 
did  the  fact  that  her  mother  had  once  imphed  to  her 
that  but  for  Madame  Sampiero,  but  for  something — 
was  it  something  wrong,  or  merely  selfish  and  unwise 
which  she  had  done  ? — Barbara's  father  might  have 
returned  in  time  to  England  and  made  some  attempt 
to  rehabilitate  himself. 

The  maid  who  brought  in  her  cup  of  tea  in  the  morning 
laid  a  parcel  down  on  Barbara's  bed.  It  was  a  book 
wrapped  in  brown  paper,  and  fully  addressed  to  her 
with  the  superscription  : — 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Rebell, — Here  is  the  book  I  promised 
to  send  you. 

**  Yours  truly, 

"James  Berwick." 

Some  instinct  made  her  wait  till  she  was  alone. 
Then,  opening  the  parcel,  she  saw  that,  with  the 
volume  of  Jacobite  songs  Berwick  had  indeed  promised 
to  give  her,  was  a  large  envelope  marked  **  private." 
From  it  she  drew  out  slowly  some  twenty  sheets  or 


272  BARBARA    REBELL. 

more,  closely  covered  with  the  as  yet  unfamiliar  writing 
of  the  man  she  loved.  To  the  end  of  her  life  Barbara 
could  have  repeated  portions  of  this,  her  first  love 
letter,  by  heart,  and  yet,  before  going  downstairs,  she 
burnt  each  separate  sheet. 

Over  the  last  she  hesitated.  Indeed,  she  cut  out 
the  three  words,  "  my  heart's  darling."  But  the  little 
gilt  scissors  had  belonged  to  her  mother — how  would 
her  mother  have  judged  what  she  was  now  doing  ? — 
and  the  slip  of  paper  went  into  the  fire  with  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

*  He  smarteth  most  who  hides  his  smart 
And  sues  for  no  compassion." 

Raleigh. 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  me  with  you  to  church  this 
morning  ?  Miss  Berwick  tells  me  that  her  uncle  won't 
be  shocked." 

When  Mrs.  Rebell  made  her  request,  Daniel 
O'Flaherty  was  walking  up  and  down  the  small  hall, 
waiting  for  the  carriage  in  which  he  was  to  drive  that 
Sunday  morning  to  the  nearest  Roman  Catholic 
chapel.  He  had  shared  with  the  two  ladies  a  compara- 
tively early  breakfast,  for  the  service  he  was  to  attend 
took  place  at  ten. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  rather  awkwardly,  "I  shall 
be  very  glad  of  your  company,  but  I'm  afraid  you  won't 
be  comfortable,  for  Mass  is  said,  it  seems,  in  a  little 
mission  room."  O'Flaherty  had  a  vividly  unpleasant 
recollection  of  the  last  time  he  had  taken  "  a  smart 
lady  "  to  church.  She  had  apparently  expected  to  find 
a  Notre  Dame  or  Sistine  Chapel  in  the  wilds  of 
Herefordshire,  and  she  had  been  very  much  annoyed 
with  the  inartistic  furnishings  of  the  iron  chapel.  So 
it  was  that  Mrs.  Rebell's  request  fell  disagreeably  on 
his  ear. 

Barbara' s  whole  soul  was  possessed  with  the  desire 
of  putting  off  the  meeting  with  Berwick.  How  could 
she  greet  him  before  his  sister  ?  how  could  she  behave 

B.R.  T 


274  BARBARA   REBELL. 

as  if  last  night — as  if  his  soul-stirring,  ardent  letter, 
had  not  been  ?  Berwick  had  written,  among  a  hundred 
other  contradictory  things,  "  Everything  shall  go  on  as 
before.  I  will  school  myself  to  be  content  with  the 
least  you  can  give  me."  But  even  she  knew  that  that 
was  impossible,  ami  she  blessed  the  chance  which  had 
now  come  to  her  of  escaping  for  a  few  hours  the 
necessity  of  pla}ing  a  part  before  Lord  Bosworth  and 
Arabella. 

So  absorbed  was  Barbara  in  her  thoughts  that  she 
scarcely  noticed  Mr.  Daman,  when  she  crossed  him 
on  the  broad  staircase  on  her  way  to  her  room  to  get 
ready  for  her  expedition.  The  old  man,  however,  had 
seen  the  light  from  a  large  window  beat  straight  on  her 
absorbed  face.  For  the  first  time  Barbara  reminded 
him  of  her  father,  of  Richard  Rebell,  and  the  reminis- 
cence was  not  pleasing.  Pretty  women,  he  said  to 
himself  rather  crossly,  should  study  their  looks ;  they 
owed  it  to  those  about  them.  They  ought  not  to  get  up 
too  early  in  the  morning  and  go  racing  upstairs !  Why, 
it  was  now  only  half-past  nine,  and  Mrs.  Rebell  had 
evidently  already  breakfasted.  He  himself  was  up  at  this 
unwonted  hour  because  it  was  Sunday,  and  on  Sunday 
everything  should  be  done  to  spare  the  servants  in  a 
country  house.  Septimus  Daman  lived  up  to  his  own 
moral  code  much  more  completely  than  many  of  those 
who  regarded  him  as  a  selfish  old  worldling  could 
pretend  to  do.  Still,  he  did  not  like  to  be  baulked  of 
innocent  pleasures,  and  not  least  among  them  was  that 
of  having  his  tea  poured  out  for  him  on  Sunday  morning 
by  a  pretty  woman. 

**  Then  you've  breakfasted  too  ?  "  Failing  Barbara, 
Mr.  Daman  would  have  liked  the  company  of  Daniel 
O'Flaherty.  "  Oh,  I  forgot !  of  course  you're  going  to 
^our  church  " — a  note  of  commiseration  crept  into  the 


BARBARA  REBELL.  275 

thin  voice ;  the  old  Queen's  Messenger  belonged  to  a 
generation  when  an  Irishman's  religion  was  still  the 
greatest  of  his  disabilities. 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  taking  Mrs.  Rebell  with  me." 
Septimus  Daman's  vested  interest  in  Barbara  amused 
the  barrister. 

"Are  you  indeed?"  Old  Septimus  always  went  to 
church  on  Sunday,  but  he  liked  to  have  the  duty 
sweetened  by  the  presence  of  youth  and  beauty  in  the 
pew.     **  You  never  saw  her  mother,  did  you  ?" 

"  No.  The  Rebell  Case  took  place  some  years 
before  I  came  to  London."  It  was  not  the  first  time 
Mr.  Daman  had  asked  the  question,  but  O' Flaherty 
answered  very  patiently,  and  even  added  —  also 
not  for  the  first  time — "  She  must  have  been  an 
exceptionally  beautiful  and  charming  woman." 

*'  Perfection,  absolute  perfection  1  Her  daughter  isn't 
a  patch  on  her  as  to  looks.  I  remember  now  the 
first  time  I  saw  Mrs.  Richard  Rebell  I  thought  her  the 
loveliest  creature  I'd  ever  set  eyes  upon.  Her  name 
was  Adela  Oglander,  and  people  expected  her  to  do 
uncommonly  well  for  herself.  Awful  to  think  what  she 
did  do,  eh  ?  But  Richard  Rebell  was  a  very  taking 
fellow  in  those  days.  When  I  was  a  young  man 
women  were  content  to  look — well,  as  Mrs.  Richard 
Rebell  looked  !  One  doesn't  see  such  pretty  women 
now,"  Mr.  Daman  sighed,  "  I  suppose  our  Mrs.  Barbara 
lost  her  complexion  in  the  West  Indies.  Those  climates, 
so  I've  always  understood,  are  damnation  to  the  skin. 
Not  that  hers  has  roughened — eh,  what  ?  And  she 
can  still  blush — a  great  thing  that,  almost  a  lost  art !  '* 
he  chuckled.  "  From  what  Bosworth  tells  me  she  had 
an  awful  time  with  the  brute  she  married." 

"  Was  he  in  the  Army  ?  " 

O'Flaherty  was  vaguely  interested.     He  and  Mrs. 

T    '2. 


276  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Rebell  had  had  a  good  deal  of  desultory  talk,  but  she 
never  alluded  to  her  married  life.  Those  years — he 
roughly  guessed  them  to  be  from  twenty  to  seven-and- 
twenty — seemed  dropped  out  of  her  memory. 

**  Not  that  I  ever  heard  of.  He's  always  been  a 
sugar  planter,  a  descendant  of  a  Rebell  younger  son 
who  went  out  to  the  West  Indies  to  make  his  fortune  a 
hundred  years  ago.  Poor  Barbara  Sampiero  told  me 
about  it  at  the  time  of  the  marriage." 

"  And  how  long  has  Mrs.  Rebell  been  a  widow  ?  " 

**  She's  not  a  widow.  Whatever  gave  you  such  an 
idea?"  The  old  man  shot  a  sudden  shrewd  look  at 
the  barrister;  O'Flahcrty's  face  expressed  surprise, 
yes,  and  profound  annoyance.  Dear,  dear,  this  was 
distinctly  interesting  ! 

Mr.  Daman  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  "  Her 
husband's  very  much  alive,  but  he's  signed,  so  Bosworth 
tells  me,  some  kind  of  document  promising  to  leave 
her  alone.  Of  course  he  keeps  her  fortune,  such  as  it 
is,  for  she  was  married  before  this  act  which  makes 
women,  I  understand,  so  very  independent  of  their 
lords  and  masters.  But  that's  rather  a  good  thing, 
for  it  takes  away  his  only  reason  for  molesting  her. 
Still,  there'll  be  trouble  with  him,  if,  as  I'm  told, 
Madame  Sampiero  intends  to  leave  her  well  off.  Good 
Lord,  what  a  business  we  all  had  with  Napoleone 
Sampiero !  He  was  a  regular  leech.  Strange,  isn't 
it,  that  both  these  poor  dear  women — each,  observe, 
a  Barbara  Rebell — should  make  such  a  mess  of  their 
lives?  However,  in  this  case  there's  no  Bosworth  to 
complicate  matters !  " 

O'Flaherty  wheeled  round,  and  looked  hard  at  the 
old  man,  but  Septimus  Daman  had  spoken  with  no 
after-thought  in  his  mind.  He  had  come  to  the  stage 
of  life  when  old  people  are  curiously  unobservant,  or 


BARBARA   REBELL. 


277 


perhaps  it  should  be  said,  no  longer  capable  of  realising 
the  proximity  of  passion. 

Condemnation  of  James  Berwick,  who,  it  seemed  to 
O'FIaherty,  should  remember  the  fact  that  he  was 
under  his  sister's  roof,  and  a  certain  pity  for,  and 
shrinking  from  Mrs.  Rebell,  the  woman  now  sitting  so 
silently  by  his  side  in  the  victoria,  filled  the  barrister's 
mind.  He  was  also  aware  of  experiencing  that  species 
of  bewilderment  which  brings  with  it  the  mortifying 
conviction  that  one  has  been  excessively,  inexcusably 
blind.  O'FIaherty  cast  his  mind  back  over  the  last 
week.  That  which  he  in  his  simplicity  had  taken  for 
love, — love  capable  of  inducing  such  a  man  as  Berwick 
to  make  a  great  sacrifice, — was  doubtless  but  the  pre- 
liminary to  one  of  those  brief  intrigues  of  which  he 
heard  so  much  in  the  world  in  which  he  now  lived. 

And  Mrs.  Rebell  ?  He  had  really  liked  her — uncon- 
sciously thought  the  better  of  Arabella  for  having  such 
a  woman,  one  so  gentle,  kindly,  unassuming,  for  her 
friend.  He  knew  the  tragic  story  of  Richard  Rebell, 
of  his  banishment  from  the  pleasant  world  in  which  he 
had  held  so  prominent  a  place  ;  and  Barbara  had  been 
the  more  interesting,  the  more  worthy  of  respect  in 
his  eyes  because  she  was  in  no  sense  ashamed  of  her 
parentage.  Was  it  possible  that  she  was  one  of  those 
women — he  had  sometimes  heard  of  them — who  are  said 
to  possess  every  feminine  virtue  save  that  on  which,  as 
he,  the  Irish  farmer's  son,  absolutely  beheved,  all  the 
others  really  depend  ? 

O'FIaherty  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mrs.  Rebell ; 
they  had  had  more  than  one  long  talk  together.  Never 
had  he  met  a  woman  who  seemed  to  him  more  pure- 
minded  in  the  very  essence  of  her.  And  yet — well,  the 
Irishman  had  seen — as  indeed  who  could  help  seeing, 


278  BARBARA   REBELL. 

save  that  self-centred  and  naif  egoist,  Septimus 
Daman  ? — that  Barbara  loved  Berwick.  The  sight  of 
these  two,  so  absorbed  in  one  another,  had  deeply 
moved  the  one  who  looked  on,  and  quickened  his  own 
feeling  for  Arabella  into  life. 

The  barrister  had  envied  Berwick  the  devotion  of 
such  a  woman,  thinking  a  fabulous  fortune  well  forfeited 
in  the  winning  of  Barbara  Rebell  as  companion  on  that 
mysterious,  dangerous  journey  which  men  call  life. 
Realising  the  kind  of  intimate  sympathy  which  seemed 
to  bind  these  two,  O'Flaherty  had  recalled  the  phrase, 
"  a  marriage  of  true  minds,"  and  he  had  thought  of  all  it 
would  mean  to  Berwick,  even  as  regarded  his  public 
career,  to  have  so  conciliatory,  so  charming  a  creature 
by  his  side.  Arabella  Berwick,  in  spite  of  her  many  fine 
qualities  and  intellectual  gifts,  possessed  neither  the  tact 
nor  the  self-effacement  so  essential  to  the  fulfilment  of 
the  rdh  of  statesman's  wife  or  sister. 

And  now  O'Flaherty  learned  that  all  the  time  he  had 
been  thinking  these  things,  Mrs.  Rebell  was  well  aware 
that  there  could  be  nothing  permanent  or  avowable  in 
her  tie  with  Berwick ;  while  Berwick,  on  his  side,  was 
playing  the  most  delightful  and  absorbing  of  the  great 
human  games  with  dice  so  loaded  that,  come  what 
might,  he  was  bound  to  win.  The  barrister  told  him- 
self that  he  had  indeed  been  simple-minded  to  suppose 
that  such  a  man  as  Arabella's  brother  would  sacrifice 
to  love  the  wealth  which  gave  him  an  absolute  and  pre- 
eminent position  among  those  he  wished  to  lead.  "  A 
marriage  of  true  minds  ?  " — an  ugly  look  came  over  the 
plain,  strong  face  of  the  man  sitting  by  Mrs.  Rebell,  and 
she,  catching  that  look,  wondered  what  hateful  thought, 
or  sudden  physical  discomfort,  had  brought  it  there. 

But,  when  once  he  found  himself  kneeling  in  the 
humble  little  iron  chapel,  long  habit  acted  on  Daniel 


BARBARA   REBELL.  279 

O'Flaherty's  mind,  cleared  it  of  sordid  images,  made 
him  think  more  charitable  thoughts  of  the  woman  who 
crouched  rather  than  knelt  by  his  side,  in  what  seemed  a 
position  of  almost  painful  abasement.  Poor  Barbara 
Rebell !  Mingling  with  the  prayers  he  knew  by  heart, 
and  which  were,  after  all,  one  long  supplication  for  mercy 
and  forgiveness,  came  the  slow  conviction  that  she 
might  not  be  deserving  of  so  much  condemnation  as  he 
had  at  first  assumed.  Perhaps  she  had  come  here,  with 
him,  to-day,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  temptation,  and  not, 
as  he  had  unkindly  suspected,  to  satisfy  an  idle  and  not 
very  healthy  curiosity. 

Busy  as  he  had  been  last  night  in  the  music  gallery 
with  thoughts  of  his  own  self  and  Arabella,  O' Flaherty 
had  yet  been  aware  that  an  eager  colloquy  was  going 
on  by  the  organ.  He  had  heard  Berwick's  voice 
become  urgent  and  imperious,  and  he  had  put  down 
the  other  man's  rather  dramatic  disappearance,  and 
Mrs.  Rebell's  extreme  quietude  during  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  to  some  lovers'  quarrel  between  these  two, 
who  up  to  that  time  had  required  no  such  artificial 
stimulus  to  their  passion.  Perhaps  vv^hat  had  taken  place 
between  them  had  been  more  tragic,  for  Mrs.  Rebell 
looked   to-day   very  unlike  her  gentle,  composed  self. 

Barbara  had  risen  from  her  knees,  and  sat  appar- 
ently listening  to  the  little  sermon.  The  expression 
of  her  face  suddenly  recalled  to  Daniel  O'Flaherty 
an  evening  in  his  life — that  which  had  followed  his 
parting  from  Arabella  Berwick.  He  had  been  taken 
by  friends  to  the  play,  and  on  leaving  the  theatre 
had  found  that  his  mind  had  retained  absolutely 
nothing  of  what  had  gone  on  before  him  on  the 
stage.  Not  to  save  his  life  could  he  have  recalled  a 
single  scene,  or  even  the  most  telling  of  the  speeches 
which  he  had  been  listening  the  last  three  hours. to 


28o  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Doubtless  he  had  then  looked  as  Barbara  looked  now ; 
and  a  feeling  of  great  concern  and  infinite  pity  took  the 
place  of  that  which  had  filled  his  mind  during  the  drive 
from  Flctchings.  But  this  new-born  charity  did  not 
extend  to  Berwick ;  for  him,  O'Flaherty  still  felt  nothing 
but  condemnation. 

They  waited  till  the  small  congregation  had  streamed 
out,  and  then  walked  slowly  down  the  little  aisle. 
"  You  don't  look  fit  to  walk  back.  I  expect  I  can 
easily  get  a  carriage  if  you  will  wait  a  little  while." 

But  Barbara  answered  with  nervous  decision,  "  I 
would  much  rather  walk,  in  fact,  I  was  about  to  ask 
you  if  you  would  mind  going  round  by  Chancton  ;  it  is 
scarcely  out  of  our  way,  and  I  want  to  see  Madame 
Sampiero." 

"  I  beg  you  to  send  for  me — to-day — home  again. 
I  am  tired  of  being  away  from  you  !  Oh  !  do  not 
refuse,  Marraine,  to  do  as  I  ask " 

Barbara  was  kneeling  by  Madame  Sampiero's  couch, 
holding  the  stiff,  trembling  hands,  gazing  imploringly 
into  the  set  face  and  the  wide  open  eyes,  now  fixed  on 
her  with  rather  sad  speculation  and  questioning. 

"  Why  should  I  refuse  ?  Have  I  not  missed  you  ? 
Ask  McKirdy  if  we  have  not  all  missed  you,  child  ?  " 

The  muffled  tones  were  even  less  clear  than  usual, 
but  Barbara  gave  a  sigh,  almost  a  sob,  of  relief.  "  You 
must  insist  on  my  coming  back,  at  once, — at  once, 
Marraine — or  they  will  want  to  keep  me !  Some 
people  are  coming  over  to  lunch  to-morrow,  and  Miss 
Berwick  will  wish  me  to  be  there." 

"Why  go  back  at  all?" 

**  I  must  go  back.  Someone  is  waiting  for  me  out- 
side." Madame  Sampiero's  eyelids  flickered — "  Oh,  no, 
no !  Marraine,  not  Mr.  Berwick,  but  a  Mr.  O'Flaherty. 


BARBARA  REBELL.  a8i 

Besides,  they  would  all  be  so  surprised  if  I  were  not  to 
come  back  now.     Send  for  me  this  afternoon." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  her  god-mother's  hands. 
"  How  nice  it  is  to  be  home  again !  "  and  her  voice 
trembled,  "What,  darling  Marraine?  Was  Lord 
Bosworth  kind  ?  Yes,  indeed — more  than  good  and 
kind!  I  have  been  very  happy — very,  very  happy!" 
and  then  she  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  rushing 
to  her  eyes. 

While  waiting  for  Mrs.  Rebell,  Daniel  O' Flaherty 
looked  with  great  interest  at  the  splendid  old  house 
before  which  he  was  pacing  up  and  down.  This,  then, 
was  Chancton  Priory,  the  place  belonging  to  the  woman 
who  some  said  had  made,  and  others  said  had  marred. 
Lord  Bosworth's  life. 

The  story  had  been  widely  known  and  discussed. 
Madame  Sampiero  had  made  a  desperate  and  an  un- 
successful effort  to  break  her  marriage  to  the  Corsican 
adventurer  whom  she  had  married  in  a  moment  of 
headstrong,  girlish  folly ;  and  the  world,  hers  and  Lord 
Bosworth's,  had  been  loud  in  its  sympathy.  But 
for  the  fact  that  the  ceremony  had  been  solemnised 
according  to  French  law,  she  would  easily  have  ob- 
tained release. 

For  a  while,  all  had  gone  fairly  well.  Each  lived  his 
and  her  own  life  ;  Madame  Sampiero  had  acted  as 
hostess  to  Lord  Bosworth's  friends,  both  at  Chancton, 
and  in  her  London  house,  for  she  was  a  wealthy  woman, 
and  all,  save  the  very  strait-laced,  had  condoned  a  situa- 
tion which  permitted  the  exercise  of  tolerant  charity. 

Then  had  come  the  sudden  appearance  on  the  scene 
of  a  child,  of  the  little  Julia  concerning  whose 
parentage  scarcely  any  mystery  was  made,  and  the 
consequent  withdrawal  of  that  feminine  countenance 


283  BARBARA   REBELL. 

and  support  without  which  social  life  and  influence 
are  impossible  in  such  a  country  as  England. 

O'Flaherty  looked  up  at  the  muUioned  windows  sunk 
back  in  the  grey  stone  ;  behind  which  of  them  lay  the 
paralysed  woman,  now  bereft  of  lover,  of  child,  of  the 
company  of  friends,  of  everything  which  made  life 
worth  living  to  such  as  she  ?  Septimus  Daman  had 
talked  of  Madame  Sampiero  again  and  again  during 
the  last  few  days,  and  had  apparently  rejoiced  in  the 
thought  that  Mrs.  Rebell  was  so  devoted  to  the  mistress 
of  Chancton  Priory.  What  a  strange  life  the  two 
women  must  lead  here  !  The  barrister  looked  round 
him  consideringly.  November  is  the  sad  month  of  our 
country  year.  Even  the  great  cedars  added  to  the  stately 
melancholy  of  the  deserted  lawns,  and  leafless  beeches. 

Now,  at  last  Mrs.  Rebell  was  coming  towards  him 
from  the  porch  ;  he  saw  that  she  looked,  if  not  happier, 
more  at  peace  than  she  had  done  before  going  into  the 
Priory,  yet  her  eyelids  were  swollen,  and  if  victorious 
she  seemed  one  whose  victory  has  cost  her  dear. 

As  she  led  the  way  down  the  broad  grass  drive,  she 
began  to  talk  of  indifferent  matters,  making  what 
O'Flaherty  felt  was  rather  a  pitiful,  and  yet  a  gallant 
attempt  to  speak  of  things  which  might  interest  him. 

Suddenly  they  touched  on  politics,  "  My  father," 
Barbara's  face  softened,  became  less  mask-like,  "cared 
so  much  about  English  politics.  As  a  young  man 
he  actually  stood  for  Parliament,  for  in  those  days 
Halnakeham  had  a  member,  but  he  was  defeated. 
I  have  sometimes  thought,  since  I  have  heard  Mr. 
Berwick  and  Mr.  Boringdon  talk — I  don't  know  if  you 
have  met  Mr.  Boringdon — how  diff"erent  everything 
might  have  been  if  my  poor  father  had  been  elected. 
He  only  lost  the  seat  'oy  thirty  votes." 

When  she  mentioned  Berwick,  the  colour  had  flooded 


BARBARA   REBELL.  283 

her  face,  and  O'Flaherty  had  looked  away.  "  Oh  yes, 
I've  met  Oliver  Boringdon,"  he  said  quickly,  and  to  give 
her  time  to  recover  herself  he  went  on,  "  I  remember  him 
in  the  House.  But  I  had  the  luck  to  get  in  again,  and 
he  was  thrown  out,  at  the  last  General  Election.  The 
two  friends  are  an  interesting  contrast.  I  regard  James 
Berwick  as  the  typical  Parliament  man ;  not  so  JMr. 
Boringdon,  who  is  much  more  the  permanent  official, 
the  plodding  civil  servant — that  was  what  he  was 
originally,  you  know — and  Berwick  did  him  a  bad  turn 
in  taking  him  away  from  that  career  and  putting  him 
into  Parliament." 

**  But  you  do  think  well  of  Mr.  Berwick  ?  I  mean, 
do  you  consider,  as  does  his  sister,  that  he  has  a  great 
future  before  him  ?  " 

She  looked  at  her  companion  in  undisguised  anxiety, 
and  O'Flaherty  felt  rather  touched  by  the  confidence 
Barbara  evidently  reposed  in  his  judgment. 

**  I  think,"  he  said — and  he  offered  up  a  mental 
prayer  that  he  might  so  speak  as  to  help,  not  hinder,  the 
woman  by  his  side — **  that  James  Berwick's  future  will 
depend  on  the  way  he  shapes  his  life.  Do  not  think 
me  priggish — but  the  one  thing  that  seems  to  me  sure 
is  that  character  still  tells  more  than  ability  in  English 
public  life.  Character  and  ability  together  are  apt  to 
prove  irresistible." 

**  But  what,"  asked  Barbara  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you 
exactly  mean  by  character  ?  " 

**I  mean  something  which  Oliver  Boringdon  possesses 
to  a  supreme  degree — a  number  of  qualities  which 
together  make  it  positively  more  difficult  for  a  man  to 
go  wrong  than  to  go  right,  especially  in  any  matter 
affecting  his  honour  or  probity." 

*'  Then — surely  you  regard  Mr.  Berwick  as  a  man  of 
character  ? " 


284  BARBARA   REBELL. 

O'Flaherty  hesitated.  The  conversation  was  taking 
a  strange  turn,  but  he  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  her 
the  truth  as  far  as  he  saw  it.  "  I  tliink,"  he  said 
deliberately,  "  that  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  man  of 
great  ability  to  be  also  a  man  of  flawless  character. 
He  is  probably  tempted  in  a  thousand  ways  which  pass 
the  less  gifted  nature  by;  on  the  other  hand,  his  fate 
is  much  more  in  his  own  control.  Berwick  has  come 
very  well  out  of  ordeals  partly  brought  about  by  his 
own  desire  to  succeed.  Take  his  rather  singular 
marriage." — the  speaker  looked  straight  before  him — 
"  Of  course  I  well  remember  that  episode  in  his  life. 
Men  marry  every  day  for  money,  but  Berwick  conducted 
himself  with  propriety  and  dignity  under  extremely 
trying  circumstances." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  her  ?  " — there  was  a  painful  catch 
in  Barbara's  voice — "  she  was  a  friend,  was  she  not,  of 
Miss  Berwick  ?  " 

"Hardly  a  friend — rather  a  worshipping  acquaint- 
ance. No,  I  never  saw  Mrs.  James  Berwick.  She  was 
rather  an  invalid  both  before  and  after  the  marriage. 
I  think  she  did  a  very  wrong  thing  by  her  husband — 
one  that  may  even  yet  have  evil  consequences.  You 
are  doubtless  aware  that  in  the  event  of  Berwick's 
making  a  second  marriage  he  loses  the  immense  fortune 
his  wife  left  to  him." 

"  That,  then,  was  what  Miss  Berwick  meant  when 
she  said  he  could  never  marry."  Barbara  seemed 
to  be  speaking  to  herself,  but  the  words  fell  on 
O'Flaherty's  ear  with  an  unpleasing  significance.  His 
mind  made  a  sudden  leap.  Could  Arabella  be 
planning — oh  1  what  a  horrible  suspicion  concerning 
the  woman  he  had  once  loved !  But  it  came  back 
again  and  again  during  the  hour  which  followed.  Had 
he  not  himself  thought   Miss   Berwick  was  doing  all 


BARBARA   REBELL.  285 

in  her  power  to  throw  her  brother  and  Mrs.  Rebell 
together  ? 

He  went  on  speaking,  as  if  impelled  to  say  what  he 
really  thought.  "  Well,  such  a  thing  as  that  is  enough 
to  test  a  man's  character.  From  being  a  poor  man, 
practically  dependent  on  his  uncle,  Berwick  became  the 
owner  of  almost  unlimited  money,  to  the  possession  of 
which,  however,  was  attached  a  clause  which  meant 
that  in  his  case  none  of  the  normal  conditions  of  a  man's 
life  could  be  fulfilled — no  wife,  no  child,  friendship  with 
women  perpetually  open,  as  I  know  Berwick's  more 
than  once  has  been,  to  misconstruction." 

"  And  yet  other  men —  ?  "  Barbara  looked  at  him 
deprecatingly,  "  You  yourself,  Mr.  O' Flaherty  " — then 
she  cried,  *'  Forgive  me  !  I  have  no  right  to  say  that 
to  you  I  " 

**  Nay,"  he  said,  "  I  give  you  for  the  moment  every 
right  to  say,  to  ask,  what  you  like  !  I  have  no  wife,  no 
child,  no  home,  Mrs.  Rebell,  because  the  woman  I 
loved  rejected  me;  and  also  because,  though  I  have 
tried  to  like  other  women,  I  have  failed.  You  see,  it 
was  not  that  I  had  made  a  mistake,  such  as  men  make 
every  day,  for  she  loved  me  too — that  makes  all  the 
difference.  She  was  in  a  different  position  to  my  own ; 
I  was  very  poor,  and  there  was  the  further  bar  of  my 
religion,  even  of  my  nationality ' ' — he  spoke  with  a  certain 
difficulty.  '*  At  the  time  she  acted  as  she  thought  best 
for  both  our  sakes.  But,  whatever  my  personal  experi- 
ences or  motives  for  remaining  unmarried  may  be,  I 
have  no  doubt, — no  doubt  at  all, — as  to  the  general 
question.  To  my  mind,  James  Berwick's  friends  must 
regret  that  he  has  never,  apparently,  been  tempted  to 
make  the  great  sacrifice ;  and  for  my  part,  I  hope  the 
day  will  come  when  he  will  meet  with  a  woman  for  whom 
he  will  think  his  fortune  well  lost,  whom  he  will  long  to 


286  BARBARA   REBELL. 

make  his  wife  in  a  sense  that  the  poor  creature  he 
married  never  was,  and  in  whom  he  will  see  the  future 
mother  of  his  children."  He  paused,  then  added  in  a 
low  voice,  "  In  no  other  tie  can  such  a  man  as  he  find 
permanent  solace  and  satisfaction.  If  report  speaks 
truly,  he  has  more  than  once  tried  an  alternative 
experiment. " 

He  dared  not  look  at  her.  They  walked  on  in  absolute 
silence. 

At  last  she  spoke,  "  Please  say  nothing  of  our  walk 
round  by  Chancton  Priory."  And  when,  some  hours 
later,  there  came  a  letter  from  Doctor  McKirdy  de- 
claring that  Madame  Sampicro  was  not  well,  and  longed 
for  Mrs.  RLbcll's  presence,  Daniel  O'Flaherty  thought 
he  understood.  A  pang  of  miserable  self-reproach 
struck  his  heart  and  conscience.  What  right  had  he 
to  have  put  this  woman  to  the  torture — to  take  on 
himself  the  part  of  Providence  ? 

After  they  had  all  seen  Barbara  off,  after  he  had 
noted  her  very  quiet  but  determined  rejection  of  Ber- 
wick's company  on  the  way  to  Chancton  Priory,  Daniel 
O'Flaherty  was  in  no  mood  to  go  for  the  walk  to 
which  Miss  Berwick  had  been  looking  forward  all  that 
afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

•*Look  in  my  face  :  my  name  is  Might-have-been, 
And  I  am  also  called  No-more,  Too-late,  Farewell* 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

The  days  following  Barbara's  return  to  Chancton 
Priory  went  slowly  by,  and  she  received  no  sign,  no 
word  from  Berwick.  She  had  felt  quite  sure  that  he 
would  come — if  not  that  same  evening  of  her  leaving 
Fletchings,  then  the  next  morning;  if  not  in  the 
morning,  then  in  the  afternoon. 

During  those  days  she  went  through  every  phase  of 
feeling.  She  learnt  the  lesson  most  human  beings  learn 
at  some  time  of  their  lives — how  to  listen  without 
appearing  to  do  so  for  the  sounds  denoting  arrival,  how 
to  hunger  for  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  to  the  listener 
brings  happiness,  however  indifferently  these  same 
accents  fall  on  the  ears  of  others.  She  schooled  herself 
not  to  flinch  when  the  days  went  by  bringing  no  suc- 
cessor to  that  letter  in  which  Berwick  had  promised 
her  so  much  more  than  she  had  ever  asked  of  him. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  her  restless  self-questioning  and 
unhappiness,  she  was  touched  and  pleased  at  the  glad- 
ness with  which  she  had  been  welcomed  home  again  by 
Madame  Sampiero,  and  even  by  Doctor  McKirdy.  It 
seemed  strange  that  neither  of  them  spoke  of  the  man 
who  now  so  wholly  occupied  her  thoughts  ;  no  one,  with 
the  exception  perhaps  of  his  old  nurse,  noted  Berwick's 
absence,  or  seemed  to  find  it  untoward.  Barbara  had 
at  first  been  nervously  afraid  that  Madame  Sampiero 


a88  BARBARA   REBELL. 

would  make  some  allusion  to  the  few  moments  they  had 
spent  together  that  Sunday  morning,  that  she  would  per- 
haps ask  her  what  had  induced  her  eager  wish  to  leave 
Fletchings ;  but  no  such  word  was  said,  and  Barbara 
could  not  even  discover  whether  Doctor  McKirdy  was 
aware  that  her  sudden  return  to  the  Priory  had  been 
entirely  voluntary. 

And  then,  as  the  short  winter  days  seemed  to  drag 
themselves  along,  Mrs.  Rebell,  almost  in  spite  of  herself, 
again  began  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Oliver  Boringdon. 
There  was  something  in  his  matter-of-fact  eagerness  for 
her  society  which  soothed  her  sore  heart ;  her  manner  to 
him  became  very  gracious,  more  what  it  had  been  before 
Berwick  had  come  into  herlife  ;  and  again  she  found  her- 
self taking  the  young  man's  part  with  Madame  Sampiero 
and  the  old  Scotchman.  Boringdon  soon  felt  as 
happy  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  be.  He  told  himself 
he  had  been  a  jealous  fool,  for  Barbara  spoke  very  little 
of  her  visit  to  Fletchings,  and  not  at  all  of  Berwick ; 
perhaps  she  had  seen  him  when  there  at  a  disadvantage. 

As  Oliver  happened  to  know,  Berwick  had  left 
Sussex ;  he  was  now  in  London,  and  doubtless  they 
would  none  of  them  see  anything  of  him  till  Easter. 
The  young  man  took  the  trouble  to  go  down  to  the 
Grange  and  tell  Mrs.  Kemp  that  he  had  been  mistaken 
in  that  matter  of  which  he  had  spoken  to  her.  He 
begged  her,  rather  shamefacedly,  to  forget  what  he  had 
said.  Lucy's  mother  heard  him  in  silence,  but  she 
did  not  repeat  her  call  on  Mrs.  Rebell.  So  it  was  that 
during  those  days  which  were  so  full  of  dull  wretched- 
ness and  suspense  to  Barbara  Rebell,  Oliver  Boringdon 
also  went  through  a  mental  crisis  of  his  own,  the  upshot 
of  which  was  that  he  wrote  a  long  and  explicit  letter  to 
Andrew  Johnstone. 

They  were  both  men  to  whom  ambiguous  situations 


BARBARA   REBELL.  289 

were  utterly  alien.  Boringdon  told  himself  that  John- 
stone might  not  understand,  or  might  understand  and 
not  approve,  his  personal  reason  for  interference;  but 
Johnstone  would  certainly  agree  that  Mrs.  Rebell's 
present  position  was  intolerable  from  every  point  of 
view,  and  that  some  effort  should  be  made  to  set  her 
legally  free  from  such  a  man  as  was  this  Pedro  Rebell. 
Once  Barbara  was  free, — Oliver  thrust  back  the  leaping 
rapture  of  the  thought — 

After  much  deliberation  he  had  added,  as  a  post- 
script :  **  I  have  no  objection  to  your  showing  this  letter 
to  Grace." 

Doctor  McKirdy  watched  Mrs.  Rebell  very  narrowly 
during  these  same  early  December  days,  and  as  he  did 
so  he  became  full  of  wrath  against  James  Berwick. 
He  and  Madame  Sampiero  had  few  secrets  from  one 
another.  The  old  Scotchman  had  heard  of  Barbara's 
sudden  Sunday  morning  appearance  at  the  Priory,  and 
of  her  appeal — was  it  for  protection  against  herself? 
He  made  up  his  mind  that  she  and  Berwick  must  have 
had,  if  not  a  quarrel,  then  one  of  those  encounters  which 
leave  deeper  marks  on  the  combatants  than  mere 
quarrels  are  apt  to  do. 

More  than  once  the  rough  old  fellow  was  strongly 
tempted  to  say  to  her  :  "  If  you  wish  to  make  yourself 
ill,  you  are  just  going  the  way  to  do  it !  "  but  Mrs. 
Rebell's  determination  to  go  on  as  usual,  to  allow  no 
one  to  divine  the  state  of  her  mind,  aroused  his  unwilling 
admiration,  nay  more,  his  sympathy.  He  had  known, 
so  he  told  himself,  what  it  was  to  feel  as  Barbara  felt 
now,  but  in  his  case  jealousy,  an  agony  of  jealousy, 
had  been  added  to  his  other  torments,  and  shame  too 
for  the  futility  of  it  all. 

Nine  days  after  Barbara  had  left   Fletchings  she 

B.R.  U 


290  BARBARA   REBELL. 

received  a  letter  from  Berwick.  It  bore  the  London 
postmark,  but  was  dated  the  evening  of  the  day  they 
had  parted, — of  that  day  when  she  had  successfully 
eluded  his  desire,  his  determination,  to  see  her  alone. 

A  certain  savagery  of  anger,  hurt  pride,  over- 
mastering passion  breathed  in  the  few  lines  of  the  short 
note  which  began  abruptly,  "  I  have  no  wish  to  force 
my  presence  on  you,"  and  ended  "  Under  the  circum- 
stances perhaps  it  were  better  that  we  should  not  meet 
for  a  while."  Something  had  been  added,  and  then 
erased  ;  most  women  would  have  tried  to  find  out  what 
that  hasty  scrawl  concealed,  but  if  it  hid  some  kinder 
sentiment  the  writer,  before  despatching  his  missive, 
had  repented,  and  to  Barbara  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  read  what  he  had  added  was  enough  to 
prevent  her  trying  to  do  so. 

With  deep  trouble  and  self-reproach  she  told  herself 
that  perhaps  she  had  been  wrong  in  taking  to  flight — 
nay,  more,  that  she  had  surely  owed  Berwick  an 
explanation.  No  wonder  he  was  hurt  and  angry  !  And 
he  would  never  know,  that  was  the  pity  of  it,  that  it 
was  of  herself  she  had  been  afraid — 

Then  those  about  her  suddenly  began  to  tell  Mrs. 
Rebell  that  which  would  have  made  such  a  difference 
before  the  arrival  of  Berwick's  letter.  "  I  suppose  you 
know  that  James  Berwick  is  in  London  ?  He  was  sent 
for  suddenly,"  and  Boringdon  mentioned  the  name  of 
the  statesman  who  had  been  Prime  Minister  when 
Berwick  held  office. 

"  Has  he  been  gone  long  ?  " — Barbara's  voice  sounded 
indifferent. 

"  Yes,  he  seems  to  have  had  a  wire  on  a  Sunday,  on 
the  day  you  came  back  from  Fletchings." 

And  Boringdon  had  never  told  her  this  all-important 
feet  I     Barbara  felt  a  sudden  secret  resentment  against 


BARBARA   REBELL.  291 

the  young  man.  So  it  had  lain  with  him  to  spare  her 
those  days  of  utter  wretchedness  ;  of  perpetually  waiting 
for  one  whom  she  believed  to  be  in  the  near  neighbour- 
hood ;  nay  more,  those  moments  of  sick  anxiety,  for  at 
times  she  had  feared  that  Berwick  might  be  ill, 
physically  unable  to  leave  Fletchings  or  Chillingworth. 
But  this  most  unreasonable  resentment  against  Oliver 
she  kept  in  her  own  heart. 

The  next  to  speak  to  her  of  Berwick  had  been  Mrs. 
Turke.  "  So  our  Mr.  Berwick's  in  London  ?  But  he'll 
be  back  soon,  for  he  hasn't  taken  Dean  with  him. 
Sometimes  months  go  by  without  our  seeing  the  dear 
lad,  and  then  all  in  a  minute  he's  here  again.  That's  the 
way  with  gentlemen  ;  you  never  know  when  you  have 
'em  !  "  And  she  had  given  Barbara  a  quick,  meaning 
look,  as  if  the  remark  had  a  double  application. 

Then  came  a  day,  the  8th  of  December,  which  Mrs. 
Rebell  became  aware  was  not  like  other  days.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  been  at  the  Priory  Madame 
Sampiero  inquired  as  to  the  day  of  the  month.  Doctor 
McKirdy  was  more  odd,  more  abrupt  even  than  usual,  and 
she  saw  him  turn  Boringdon  unceremoniously  from  the 
door  with  the  snarling  intimation  that  Madame 
Sampiero  did  not  wish  to-day  to  be  troubled  with  busi- 
ness matters.  Mrs.  Turke  also  was  more  mysterious, 
less  talkative  than  usual ;  she  went  about  her  own 
quarters  sighing  and  muttering  to  herself. 

A  sudden  suspicion  came  into  Barbara's  heart ; 
could  it  be  that  James  Berwick  was  coming  back,  that 
they  expected  him  to-day,  and  that  none  of  them  liked 
to  tell  her  ?  If  so,  how  wise  of  McKirdy  to  have  sent 
away  Oliver  Boringdon  !  But  then  cold  reason  declared 
that  if  such  was  indeed  the  case,  to  make  so  great  a 
mystery   of  the   matter  would  be   an   insult  to  her, 

u  2 


292  BARBARA   REBELL. 

surely  the  last  thing  that  any  of  them,  with  the  exception 
perhaps  of  the  old  housekeeper,  would  dare  to  do  ? 

Still,  when  at  last,  late  in  the  morning,  she  was  sent 
for  by  Doctor  McKirdy,  and  informed  curtly  that  some- 
one was  waiting  for  her  in  the  grass  walk,  she  made  no 
doubt  of  who  it  could  be.  In  her  passion  of  relief,  in 
her  desire  to  bear  herself  well,  to  return,  if  it  might 
be  possible,  to  the  old  ideal  terms  on  which  she  and 
Berwick  had  been  before  he  had  been  seized  with  what 
she  to  herself  now  characterised  as  a  passing  madness, 
Barbara  hardly  noticed  how  moved,  how  unlike  himself 
the  old  Scotchman  seemed  to  be,  and  how,  again  and 
again,  he  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  tell  her  something 
which  native  prudence  thrust  back  into  his  heart. 

So  great,  so  overwhelming  was  Barbara's  disappoint- 
ment when  she  saw  that  the  man  leaning  on  the  iron 
gate  leading  to  the  now  leafless  rosery  was  Lord 
Bosworth,  and  not  James  Berwick,  that  she  had  much 
ado  to  prevent  herself  from  bursting  into  tears.  But  she 
saw  the  massive  figure  before  she  herself  was  seen,  and 
so  was  able  to  make  a  determined  effort  to  conceal  both 
her  bitter  deception,  and  also  her  great  surprise  at 
finding  him  there. 

"  As  you  are  doubtless  aware,"  Lord  Bosworth  began 
abruptly,  "  I  come  here  three  or  four  times  a  year,  and 
McKirdy  isgood  enough  to  arrange  that  on  those  occasions 
I  can  visit  my  child's  grave  without  fear  of  interruption. 
I  ventured  to  ask  that  you  might  be  told  that  I  wished 
to  see  you  here,  because  I  have  a  request  to  make  you — " 

He  hesitated,  and  with  eyes  cast  down  began 
tracing  with  the  heavy  stick  he  bore  in  his  hand 
imaginary  geometrical  patterns  on  the  turf. 

"  If  my  daughter  Julia  had  lived,  she  would  have 
been  seventeen  to-day,  and  so  it  seemed  to  me — perhaps 
I  was  wrong — to  be  a  good  opportunity  to  make  another 


BARBARA   REBELL.  393 

effort  to  soften  Barbara's  heart."  He  put  his  hand  on 
Mrs.  Rebell's  shoulder,  and  smiled  rather  strangely  as 
he  quickly  added,  "  You  understand  ?  I  mean  my  own 
poor  Barbara's  heart,  not  that  of  this  kind  young 
Barbara,  who  I  am  hoping  will  intercede  for  me,  on 
whom  I  am  counting  to  help  me  in  this  matter.  I 
do  not  know  how  far  I  should  be  justified  in  letting 
her  know  what  is  undoubtedly  the  truth,  namely,  that 
I  have  not  very  long  to  live.  McKirdy  absolutely 
refuses  to  tell  her  ;  but  perhaps,  if  she  knew  this  fact,  it 
would  alter  her  feeling,  and  make  her  more  willing  to 
consider  the  question  of — of — our  marriage." 

And  then,  as  Barbara  started  and  looked  at  him 
attentively,  he  went  on  slowly,  and  with  a  quiet 
dignity  which  moved  his  listener  deeply :  "Of  course 
you  know  our  story  ?  Sometimes  I  think  there  is  no 
one  in  the  whole  world  who  does  not  know  it.  There 
were  years,  especially  after  the  birth  of  our  little  Julia, 
when  I  think  I  may  say  we  both  had  marriage  on  the 
brain.  And  then,  when  at  last  Barbara  was  free, 
when  Napoleone  Sampiero" — his  face  contracted  when 
he  uttered  the  name — "  was  dead,  she  would  not  hear 
of  it.  She  seemed  to  think — perhaps  at  the  time  it 
was  natural  she  should  do  so — that  the  death  of  our 
poor  child  had  been  a  judgment  on  us  both.  But  now, 
after  all  these  years,  I  think  she  might  do  as  I  ask.  I 
even  think — perhaps  you  might  put  that  to  her — that 
she  owes  me  something.  No  husband  was  ever  more 
devoted  to  a  wife  than  I  have  been  to  her.  Now,  and 
Heaven  knows  how  many  years  it  is  since  we  last  met, 
I  think  of  her  constantly.  She  is  there ! — there !  " 
He  struck  his  breast,  then  went  on  more  calmly :  "  My 
niece  knows  my  wishes,  there  would  be  no  trouble 
with  her ;  and  as  for  my  nephew,  James  Berwick,  you 
know  how  attached  he  has  always  been  to  Barbara. 


294  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Why,  I'm  told  he's  much  more  here  now  than  he  is  at 
ChilHngworth !  " 

He  turned  abruptly,  and  they  walked  slowly,  side  by 
side,  down  the  broad  grass  path  till  there  came  a  spot 
where  it  became  merged  in  the  road  under  the  beeches. 
Here  he  stopped  her. 

"  You  are  surely  not  going  to  walk  back  all  the  way 
alone!"  she  cried,  for  she  saw  with  emotion  that  he 
looked  older  even  in  the  few  days  which  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  bade  her  good-bye  at  Fletchings. 

"  No,  the  carriage  is  waiting  for  me  down  there.  I 
only  walked  up  through  the  park.  Then  I  have  your 
promise  to  speak  to  Madame  Sampiero  ?  "  he  held  her 
hand,  and  looked  down  with  peculiar  earnestness  into 
her  face.  As  she  bent  her  head,  he  added,  "  You'll  let 
me  have  word  when  you  can  ?  Of  course,  if  she's  still 
of  the  same  mind,  I'll  not  trouble  her."  He  walked 
on,  and  then  turned  suddenly  back  and  grasped 
Barbara's  hand  once  more.  "  Better  not  use  the  health 
argument,"  he  said,  "  doctors  do  make  mistakes — an 
old  friend  of  mine  married  his  cook  on,  as  he  thought, 
his  death-bed,  and  then  got  quite  well  again  !  "  He 
smiled  at  her  rather  deprecatingly,  "  I  know  my  cause 
is  in  good  hands,"  and  she  watched  him  walk  with 
heavy,  deliberate  steps  down  the  leaf-strewn  way. 

For  the  first  time  Barbara  drew  the  parallel  those 
about  her  had  so  often  drawn.  Was  James  Berwick 
capable  of  such  constancy,  of  such  long  devotion  as  his 
uncle  had  shown  ?  Something  whispered  yes  ;  but  even 
if  so,  how  would  that  affect  her,  how  would  that  make 
her  conduct  less  reprehensible,  were  she  ever  to  fall 
short  of  what  had  been  her  own  mother's  standard  ? 

Before  her  interview  with  Lord  Bosworth,  it  had 
seemed  to  Barbara  that  she  constantly  spent  long  hours 


BARBARA  REBELL.  295 

alone  with  her  god-mother ;  but,  after  that  memorable 
eighth  of  December,  she  felt  as  if  those  about  Madame 
Sampiero  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  prevent  her 
being  ever  left  alone  with  her  god-mother  for  more  than 
a  very  few  moments  at  a  time.  Doctor  McKirdy  sud- 
denly decided  to  have  his  house  repapered,  and  he 
accordingly  moved  himself  bodily  over  to  the  Priory, 
where  Barbara  could  not  complain  of  his  constant 
presence  in  "Madam's"  room,  for  he  always  found 
something  to  amuse  or  interest  his  patient. 

Twice  he  spoke  to  Barbara  of  Lord  Bosworth,  each 
time  with  strange  bitterness  and  dislike.  "  No  doubt 
his  lordship  was  after  seeing  Madam  ?  "  and,  as  Barbara 
hesitated :  "  Fine  I  knew  it  I — but  he  might  just  as 
well  go  and  kill  her  outright.  I've  had  to  tell  him  so 
again  and  again  " — 

Barbara  kept  her  own  counsel,  but  she  could  not 
resist  the  question,  "  Then  he  comes  often  ?  " 

**  Often  ? — that  he  does  not !  He's  never  been  one 
to  put  himself  out,  he's  far  too  high  !  He  just  sends 
for  me  over  to  Fletchings,  and  I  just  go,  though 
I've  felt  more  than  once  minded  to  tell  him  that 
I'm  not  his  servant.  Madam's  determined  that  he 
shall  never  see  her  as  she  is  now,  and  who  can 
blame  her  ?  Not  I,  certainly !  Besides,  he  hasn't  a 
bit  of  right  to  insist  on  such  a  thing."  And  he 
looked  fiercely  at  Barbara  as  he  spoke,  as  if  daring 
her  to  contradict  him. 

"  I  think  he  has  a  right,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone — 
then  with  more  courage,  "  Of  course  he  has  a  right. 
Doctor  McKirdy !     I'm  sure  if  my  god-mother  could 

see   Lord   Bosworth,  could   hear   him "  her  voice 

broke,  and  she  bit  her  lip,  sorry  at  having  said  so  much. 

But  the  interview  with  Madame  Sampiero's  old 
friend,  and  the  little  encounters  with  Doctor  McKirdy, 


296  BARBARA   REBELL. 

did  Barbara  good.  They  forced  her  to  think  of  some- 
thing else  than  of  herself,  of  another  man  than  James 
Berwick  ;  and  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would  tell  her  god-mother  she  wished  to  speak  to  her 
without  this  dread  of  constant,  futile  interruption. 
At  once  her  wish  was  granted,  for  the  paralysed 
mistress  of  the  Priory  could  always  ensure  privacy 
when  she  chose. 

But,  alas  for  Barbara,  the  result  of  the  painful  talk 
was  not  what  she  had  perhaps  been  vain  enough  to 
think  herself  capable  of  achieving  on  behalf  of  Lord 
Bosworth :  indeed,  for  a  moment  she  had  been  really 
frightened,  on  the  point  of  calling  Doctor  McKirdy,  so 
terrible,  so  physically  injurious  had  been  Madame 
Sampiero's  agitation. 

"  I  cannot  sec  him !  He  must  not  see  me  in  this 
state — he  should  not  ask  it  of  me."  Such,  Mrs.  Rebell 
had  divined,  were  the  words  her  god-mother  struggled 
over  and  over  again  to  utter.  "  Marriage  ?  " — a  light- 
ning flash  of  horror,  revolt,  bitter  sarcasm,  had 
illumined  for  a  moment  the  paralysed  woman's  face. 
Then,  softening,  she  had  added  words  signifying  that 
she  was  not  angry,  that  she  forgave — Barbara  ! 

Very  sadly,  with  a  heart  full  of  pain  at  the  dis- 
appointment she  knew  she  was  about  to  inflict,  Mrs. 
Rebell  wrote  to  Lord  Bosworth.  She  softened  the 
refusal  she  had  to  convey  by  telling,  with  tenderness 
and  simplicity,  how  much  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
writing  seemed  to  be  ever  in  her  god-mother's  thoughts, 
how  often  Madame  Sampiero  spoke  of  him,  how 
eagerly  she  had  cross-questioned  her  god-daughter  as 
to  the  days  Barbara  had  spent  at  Fletchings  and  her 
conversations  with  her  host. 

Mrs.  Rebell  wrote  this  difficult  letter  in  the  drawing- 
room,  sitting  at  the  beautiful  bureau  which  had  been 


BARBARA   REBELL.  297 

the  gift  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  writing,  and 
which  even  now  contained  hundreds  of  his  letters. 
Suddenly,  and  while  she  was  hesitating  as  to  how  she 
should  sign  herself,  James  Berwick  walked,  unan- 
nounced, into  the  room,  coming  so  quietly  that  for  a 
moment  he  stood  looking  at  Barbara  before  she  herself 
became  aware  that  he  was  there.  So  had  Barbara 
looked,  on  that  first  evening  he  had  seen  her ;  but  then 
he  had  been  outside  the  window  and  gazing  at  the 
woman  bending  over  the  bureau  with  cool,  critical 
eyes. 

Now,  he  was  aware  of  nothing,  save  that  the  hunger 
of  his  eyes  was  appeased,  and  that  he  had  come  to  eat 
humble  pie  and  make  his  peace,  for  in  his  case  that 
prescription  which  is  said  to  be  so  excellent  for  lovers — 
absence — had  only  made  him  feel,  more  than  he  had 
done  before,  that  he  could  not  and  would  not  live 
without  her. 

An  hour  later  Berwick  was  gone,  as  Barbara  believed 
in  all  sincerity,  for  ever.  He  knew  better,  but  even  he 
felt  inclined  to  try  another  dose  of  that  absence,  of 
that  absorption  in  the  business  that  he  loved,  to 
compel  forgetfulness.  It  was  clear — so  he  told  him- 
self when  rushing  back  to  Chillingworth  through  the 
December  night  air — it  was  clear  that  what  this  woman 
wanted  was  a  stone  image,  not  a  man,  for  her  friend ! 

For  a  while,  perhaps  for  half  the  time  he  had  been 
with  her,  standing  by  the  mantel-piece  while  she  sat 
two  or  three  yards  off,  there  had  been  a  truce  of  God. 
Berwick  had  thought  out  a  certain  line  of  action,  and 
he  tried  to  be,  as  some  hidden  instinct  told  him  she 
wished  to  see  him,  once  more  the  tender,  self-less, 
sexless  friend.  He  even  brought  his  hps  to  mutter 
something  like  a  prayer  for  forgiveness,  and  the  tears 


298  BARBARA   REBELL. 

came  into  her  eyes  as  with  uphfted  hand  she  checked 
the  words.  Poor  Barbara !  She  was  so  divinely  happy, 
for  his  mere  presence  satisfied  her  heart.  She  had 
never  known  him  quite  so  gentle,  quite  so  submissive, 
as  to-day.  So  glad  had  she  been  to  see  him  that  for  a 
moment  she  had  felt  tempted  to  show  him  how  welcome 
he  was  1  But  he  had  chosen, — and  she  was  deeply 
grateful  to  him  for  this — to  behave  as  if  he  had  only 
parted  from  her  the  day  before.  Fletchings,  all  that 
happened  there,  was  to  be  as  if  it  had  not  been — as  if 
the  scene  in  the  music  gallery  had  been  blotted  out 
from  their  memories. 

Then  came  an  allusion  on  his  part  to  his  forthcoming 
visit  to  Scotland,  and  to  the  invitation  which  he  knew 
his  sister  had  been  at  some  pains  to  procure  for  Mrs. 
Rebell,  and  which  Barbara  would  receive  the  next 
morning. 

"  I  cannot  accept  it ;  it  is  very  kind  of  Miss  Berwick, 
but  how  could  I  leave  my  god-mother  again  so  soon  ?  " 

**  Is  that  the  only  reason  ?  "  he  said,  and  she  heard 
with  beating  heart  the  under-current  of  anger,  of 
suppressed  feeling  in  his  voice.  "  If  so,  I  am  sure  I 
can  make  it  all  right.  It  would  only  be  ten  days,  and 
Madame  Sampiero  would  like  you  to  meet  the  people 
who  will  be  there.  But  perhaps  " — he  came  nearer 
and  stood  glowering  down  at  her — **  perhaps  that  is 
not  your  only  reason  !  " 

And  Barbara,  looking  up  at  him  with  beseeching  eyes, 
shook  her  head. 

"  Do  you  mean  " —  Berwick  spoke  so  quietly  that 
his  tone  deceived  her,  and  made  her  think  him  in 
amicable  agreement  with  herself — **  Do  you  mean  that 
you  do  not  wish  to  find  yourself  again  under  the  same 
roof  with  me  ?  Did  what  happened  at  Fletchings  make 
that  difference  ?  " 


BARBARA   REBELL.  299 

She  hesitated  most  painfully.  **  I  have  been  very 
unhappy,"  she  whispered  at  last,  "  I  know  we  have 
both  regretted " 

"  By  God,  I  have  regretted  nothing  —  excepting 
your  coldness !  "  He  grasped  her  hands  not  over-gently, 
and  the  look  came  into  his  eyes  which  had  come  there 
in  the  music  room  at  Fletchings.  "  Do  you  wish  us  to 
go  back  to  coldly-measured  friendship  ?  "  Then  he  bent 
down  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  even  now  not 
daring  to  kiss  her.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said  with  sudden 
gentleness,  "  am  I — am  I — disagreeable  to  you,  my 
dearest  ?  I  shall  not  be  angry  if  you  say  yes."  And 
Barbara,  lying  trembling,  and  as  he  thought  inertly, 
unresponsively,  in  his  arms,  found  the  courage  to 
answer,  "  I  do  care — but  not  as  you  wish  me  to  do. 
Why  cannot  we  go  back  to  where  we  were  ?  " 

On  hearing  the  whispered  words  he  quickly  released 
her,  and,  turning,  made  his  way  to  the  door.  Barbara, 
for  an  agonised  moment,  nearly  called  out  to  him  to 
come  back  and  learn  from  her  arms — her  lips — how 
untrue  were  the  words  which  were  driving  him  away. 

But  in  a  moment,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her,  he  had 
thrust  her  from  him  and  had  gone,  hastening  down  the 
great  hall,  and  out  through  the  porch  into  the  air. 

By  the  morning  she  had  taught  herself  to  think  it 
was  better  he  should  never  come  back,  for  never  would 
she  find  the  strength  to  send  him  away  again  as  she 
had  done  last  Dight« 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Nay,  but  the  maddest  gambler  throws  his  heart.* 

George  Meredith. 

"  L'orgueil,  remede  souverain,  qui  n'est  pas  k  I'usage  des  4mes 
endres." 

Stendhal. 

The  pretty  Breton  legend  setting  forth  that,  during 
the  night,  angels  take  sanctuary  from  evil  spirits  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  sleeping  maidens,  often  came  to  Mrs. 
Kemp's  mind  when  she  said  good-night  to  Lucy. 
There  was  something  very  virginal,  very  peaceful  and 
bright,  in  the  girl's  room,  of  which  the  window  over- 
looked the  paddock  of  the  Grange,  the  walled  kitchen 
garden  of  the  Priory,  and  beyond  that  a  splendid  stretch 
of  meadow  land  and  beechwood. 

Small  low-shelved  mahogany  bookshelves,  put 
together  at  a  time  of  the  world's  history  when  women's 
hands  were  considered  too  fragile  and  delicate  to  hold 
heavy  volumes,  made  squares  of  dark  colour  against  the 
blue  walls.  Lucy  Kemp  had  always  been  a  reader, 
both  as  child  and  as  girl.  Here  were  all  her  old  books, 
from  that  familiar  and  yet  rather  ill-assorted  trio, 
"The  Fairchild  Family,"  "The  Swiss  Family 
Robinson,"  and  "  The  Little  Duke,"  to  "  Queechy," 
"  Wives  and  Daughters,"  and  "  The  Heir  of 
Redclyffe,"  for  their  owner's  upbringing  had  been 
essentially  old-fashioned. 

Lucy  lay  back  in  the  dreamless  sleep  of  girlhood.  It 
was  a  cold  January  morning,  and  the  embers  of  last 


BARBARA   REBELL.  301 

night's  fire  still  slumbered  in  the  grate.  Suddenly  there 
broke  on  the  intense  stillness  the  rhythmical  sound  of 
pebbles  being  thrown  with  careful,  sure  aim  against 
the  window,  open  some  inches  from  the  top.  The 
sleeper  stirred  uneasily,  but  she  slept  on  till  a  small 
stone,  aimed  higher  than  most  of  those  which  had  pre- 
ceded it,  fell  into  the  room.  Then  Lucy  Kemp  woke 
with  a  great  start  and  sat  up  in  bed  listening. 

Yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  it,  someone  was 
standing  in  the  paddock  below  trying  to  attract  her 
attention  !  She  got  up,  wrapped  something  round  her, 
and  then  lifted  the  window-sash.  In  the  dim  light  she 
saw  a  man  standing  just  below,  and  Boringdon's  hoarse, 
quick  tones  floated  up  to  her. 

"  Lucy — Miss  Kemp  1  Would  you  ask  your  mother 
if  she  could  come  to  the  Priory  as  soon  as  possible  ? 
There's  been  an  accident  there — a  fire — and  I  fear 
Mrs.  Rebell  has  been  badly  burnt." 

His  voice  filled  Lucy  with  varying  feelings — ^joy  that 
he  had  instinctively  turned  to  the  Grange  for  help, 
horror  and  concern  at  what  he  had  come  to  tell. 

"Mother's away,"  she  cried  in  a  troubled  tone.  "She 
and  father  have  gone  over  to  Berechurch  for  three 
nights.  Should  I  be  of  any  use  ?  I  shouldn't  be  a 
moment  getting  ready." 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  she  joined  him,  and  together 
they  hastened  through  a  seldom  opened  door  giving 
access  from  the  garden  of  the  Grange  into  the  Priory 
Park.  Soon  Oliver  was  hurrying  her  up  the  path, 
walking  so  quickly  that  she  could  scarcely  keep  up  with 
him,  towards  the  great  silent  mass  of  building  the  top 
windows  of  which,  those  which  lay  half  hidden  by 
the  Tudor  stone  balcony,  were  now  strangely  lit  up, 
forming  a  coronal  of  light  to  the  house  beneath. 
"What  happened?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 


302  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  It's  impossible  to  say  what  happened,"  Boringdon 
spoke  in  sharp  preoccupied  tones,  "  Mrs.  Rebell  seems 
to  have  been  reading  in  bed  and  to  have  set  fire  to 
a  curtain.  She  behaved,  as  she  always  does,  with 
great  good  sense,  and  she  and  McGregor — heaven 
knows  how — managed  to  put  out  the  flames  ;  not,  how- 
ever, before  the  fire  had  spread  into  the  sitting-room 
next  her  bedroom.  McKirdy,  it  seems,  has  always 
insisted  that  there  should  be  buckets  of  water  ready  on 
every  landing."  Oliver  would  have  scorned  to  defraud 
his  enemy  of  his.  due.  "  When  the  whole  thing  was 
over,  then  they  all — that  stupid  old  Mrs.  Turke  and  the 
maids — saw  that  she  was  badly  burnt !  " 

The  speaker's  voice  altered;  he  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  continued,  "  They  sent  for  McKirdy,  who,  as 
bad  luck  would  have  it,  went  back  to  his  own  house 
last  week,  and  found  him  away,  for  he's  been  helping 
that  Scotch  doctor  at  Halnakeham  with  a  bad  case. 
Then  they  came  on  to  me.  Even  now  they're  like  a 
pack  of  frightened  sheep !  Madame  Sampiero  knows 
nothing  of  what  has  happened,  and  Mrs.  Rebell  is 
extremely  anxious  that  her  god-mother  should  not  be 
agitated — why,  she  actually  wanted  to  go  down  herself 
to  tell  her  that  everything  was  all  right." 

Lucy  listened  in  silence.  How  Oliver  cared,  how 
^dreadfully  he  cared !  was  the  thought  which  would 
thrust  itself  into  the  girl's  mind.  "  Is  Mrs.  Rebell  very 
badly  hurt  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Oh  !  I  wish  that  mother 
was  here.     Have  you  sent  for  another  doctor  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know  how  far  she  is  hurt,"  he  muttered, 
"  her  arm  and  shoulder,  some  of  her  hair — "  then, 
more  firmly,  "  No,  she  won't  let  me  send  for  anyone 
but  McKirdy.  Besides,  by  the  time  we  could  get  a 
man  over  from  Halnakeham,  he  would  certainl}'  be 
back.     But  it  will  be  everything  to  her  to  have  you 


BARBARA   REBELL.  303 

there,  if  only  to  keep  order  among  the  frightened, 
hysterical  women." 

Lucy  had  never  before  been  inside  Chancton  Priory ; 
and  now,  filled  though  she  was  by  very  varying 
emotions,  she  yet  gazed  about  her,  when  passing 
through  into  the  great  hall,  with  feelings  of  deep 
interest  and  curiosity :  it  looked  vast,  cavernous,  awe- 
inspiring  in  the  early  morning  light. 

A  moment  later  they  were  hastening  up  the  corner 
staircase.  At  the  first  landing,  they  were  stopped 
by  Madame  Sampiero's  French  maid,  who  put  a  claw- 
like hand  on  Boringdon's  arm — "  Do  come  in  and  see 
my  mistress.  Sir.  She  divines  something,  and  we 
cannot  calm  her." 

Boringdon  hesitated,  then  he  turned  to  Lucy. 

**  I  must  go,"  he  said,  "  I  promised  I  would.  You 
go  on  straight  upstairs,  as  far  as  you  can  go;  once 
there  you  will  be  sure  to  find  someone  to  show  you 
the  way  to  the  room  where  we  have  put  Mrs.  Rebell." 
And  the  girl  went  on  alone,  groping  her  way  up  the 
dark,  to  her  they  seemed  the  interminable,  stairs. 

An  amazing  figure — Mrs.  Turke  in  deshabille — awaited 
Lucy  on  the  top  landing,  and  greeted  her  with 
considerable  circumstance. 

"The  young  lady  from  the  Grange,  I  do  declare! 
A  sad  day  for  your  first  visit  to  the  Priory,  missy !  But 
la,  never  mind.  I've  often  seen  you,  you  and  your  dear 
papa,  and  I  read  all  about  him  in  a  book  I've  got.  What 
a  brave  gentleman !  But  reading  about  it  gave  me  the 
shivers,  that  it  did — I  would  like  to  see  that  Victoria 
Cross  of  his  !  So  Mr.  Boringdon  thinks  you  may  be  of 
use  to  Mrs.  Rebell  ?  Well,  miss,  I'll  take  you  in  to 
her.  But  she's  made  us  all  go  away  and  leave  her — 
she  says  she'd  rather  be  alone  to  wait  for  the  doctor." 


304  BARBARA  REBELL. 

Mrs.  Turke  preceded  Lucy  down  the  passage,  and 
finally  opened  the  door  of  a  pretty,  old-fashioned  bed- 
room ;  the  girl  went  in  timidly  and  then  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief;  the  woman  whom  Oliver  Boringdon  had 
described  as  having  been  "  badly  burnt  "  was  sitting  up 
in  a  large  armchair.  She  was  wrapped  in  some  kind  of 
ample  white  dressing-gown,  and  a  large  piece  of 
wadding  had  been  clumsily  attached  to  her  left  arm, 
concealing  the  left  side  of  her  face  and  hair. 

Mrs.  Rebell's  eyes  were  fixed  eagerly  on  the  door" 
through  which  Lucy  had  just  come  in.  She  did  not 
show  any  surprise  at  seeing  the  girl,  but  at  once  began 
talking  to  her  eagerly ;  and  as  she  did  so  Lucy  saw  that 
she  was  shivering,  for  the  room  was  very  cold.  A  fire  was 
laid  in  the  grate,  but  evidently  no  one  had  thought  of 
lighting  it.  Three  candles,  placed  on  the  narrow  mantel- 
piece, threw  a  bright  light  on  as  much  of  Barbara's  face 
as  Lucy  could  see.  Her  cheeks  were  red,  her  dark 
eyes  bright,  with  excitement. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  have  come,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Boringdon  told  me  he  would  fetch  your  mother.  I 
suppose  Doctor  McKirdy  will  be  here  soon  ?  Has  Mr. 
Boringdon  gone  to  fetch  him  ? " 

"  No,"  Lucy  looked  at  her  doubtfully ;  was  it  possible 
that  anyone  who  looked  as  Mrs.  Rebell  did  now,  so 
excited,  so — so  strangely  beautiful,  could  be  really 
hurt,  in  pain  ?  "  He  has  gone  to  tell  Madame 
Sampiero  that  all  danger  is  over,  that  there  is  nothing 
more  to  fear." 

A  look  of  great  anxiety  crossed  Barbara's  face.  **  My 
god-mother  is  very  brave.  I  do  not  think  she  will  give 
much  thought  to  the  fire,  but  I  hope  he  will  tell  her 
that  I  am  not  really  hurt.  Perhaps,  after  Doctor 
McKirdy  has  come,  I  can  go  down,  and  show  her 
that  there  is  really  nothing  the  matter." 


BARBARA  REBELL.  305 

As  she  spoke,  she  winced.  **  Are  you  much  hurt  ?  " 
asked  Lucy  in  a  low  voice,  and  her  shrinking  eyes  again 
glanced  at  the  sheet  of  wadding  which  wholly  concealed 
Mrs.  Rebell's  arm,  left  breast,  and  one  side  of  her  head. 

Barbara  looked  at  her  rather  piteously.  "  I  don't 
know,"  she  said  ;  "  It  hurt  dreadfully  at  first,  but  now  I 
feel  nothing,  only  a  slight  pricking  sensation."  She 
repeated,  "  It  hurt  dreadfully  till  they  fetched  Mr. 
Boringdon,  and  then  he  found — I  don't  know  where  or 
how — the  oil  and  wadding,  which  he  made  poor  old  Mrs. 
Turke  put  on.  He  was  so  good  and  kind !  "  She  smiled 
at  the  girl,  a  friendly  smile,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes 
brought  a  burning  blush  to  Lucy's  cheeks. 

There  was  a  pause  ;  then  Lucy,  having  taken  off  her 
hat  and  jacket,  lighted  the  fire. 

*'  Miss  Kemp,"  Barbara's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper, 
"  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  That  fire  which 
you  have  so  kindly  lighted  has  made  me  think  of  it. 
Will  you  go  into  my  room,  two  doors  from  here,  and 
bring  me  a  packet  of  letters  you  will  find  in  my  dressing- 
table  drawer  ?  The  drawer  is  locked,  but  the  key  is  in 
my  purse.  When  you  have  brought  it,  I  want  you  to 
burn  the  letters,  here,  before  me,"  and  as  Lucy  was 
turning  to  obey  her,  she  added,  "Take  one  of  the 
candles.  Mr.  Boringdon  said  the  two  rooms  were  to  be 
left  exactly  as  they  are,  and  everything  must  be  dripping 
with  water,  and  in  fearful  confusion." 

Lucy  never  forgot  her  little  expedition  down  the  dark 
passage,  and  the  strange  scene  which  met  her  eyes  in 
the  two  rooms  which  had  evidently  been,  till  that  night, 
as  neat,  as  delicately  clean,  as  was  her  own  at  the 
Grange.  Well  was  it  for  poor  Barbara  that  she  had  so 
few  personal  treasures.  But  the  dressing-table  had 
escaped  injury  save  from  the  water,  which  in  the  bed- 
room had  actually  done  more  harm  than  the  fire. 

B.R.  Z 


3o6  BARBARA   REBELL. 

When  she  got  back  into  the  room  where  Mrs.  Rebell 
was  sitting,  it  seemed  to  Lucy  that  Barbara  had  changed 
in  the  short  interval — that  she  looked,  not  well,  as  she  had 
done  when  Lucy  had  first  seen  her  half  an  hour  before, 
but  very,  very  ill.  The  colour  now  lay  in  patches  on  her 
cheek,  and  she  watched  with  growing  feverishness  the 
burning  of  the  few  letters,  from  each  of  which,  as  she 
put  it  in  the  bright  crackling  fire,  Lucy  averted  her 
eyes,  a  fact  which  Mrs.  Rebell,  in  spite  of  her  increasing 
dizziness  and  pain,  saw  and  was  grateful  for. 

"  Miss  Kemp,"  the  speaker's  voice  was  very  low, 
*'  come  here,  close  to  me.     Someone  may  come  in,  and 

I  am  feeling  so  strange Perhaps  I  may  forget  what 

I  want  to  tell  you.  You  know  Mr.  Berwick  ?  "  Lucy 
was  kneeling  down  by  the  arm-chair,  and  Barbara  put 
her  right  hand  on  the  girl's  slight  shoulder — "  But  of 

course  you  do,  I  was  forgetting  the  ball Why,  he 

danced  with  you.  If  I  die,  only  if  I  die,  promise 
me "  an  agonised  look  came  into  the  dark  eyes — 

"  I  promise,"  said  Lucy  steadily ;  "  only  if  you 
die " 

**  If  I  die,  you  are  to  tell  him  that  I  cared  as  he 
wished  me  to  care, — that  when  I  sent  him  away,  and  in 
the  letters  I  have  written  to  him  since,  I  said  what  was 
not  true " 

Lucy  felt  the  burning  hand  laid  on  her  shoulder  press 
more  heavily :  "  No  one  else  must  ever  know,  but  you 
promise  that  you  will  tell  him " 

"  I  promise,"  said  Lucy  again.  "  I  will  tell  him 
exactly  what  you  have  told  me,  and  no  one  else  shall 
ever  know." 

A  slight  noise  made  her  look  round.  Doctor  McKirdy 
stood  in  the  doorway.  He  was  bare-headed,  but  he 
still  wore  the  great  coat  in  which  he  had  driven  from 
Halnakeham.     He  was  pale,  his  plain  face  set  in  a 


BARBARA   REBELL.  307 

watchful,  alert  grimace,  as  his  eyes  took  in  every  detail 
of  the  scene,  of  the  room  before  him. 

Barbara  gave  a  cry — or  was  it  a  moan  ? — of  relief. 
He  turned  and  slipped  the  bolt  in  the  door.  **  Time  for 
talking  secrets  will  come  next  week,"  then  he  took  off 
his  great  coat,  washed  his  hands — with  a  gruff  word  ot 
commendation  at  the  fact  that  there  were  water,  soap, 
a  towel,  in  what  had  been  a  disused  room — turned  up 
his  sleeves,  and  bade  Lucy  stand  aside. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  would  ye  rather  go  away, 
Miss  Lucy  ?     If  yes,  there's  the  door  ! " 

"Can  I  help  you?"  Lucy  was  very  pale;  she  felt 
sick,  a  little  faint. 

"  If  ye  were  ye're  mother,  I  should  sdiy  yes " 

**  Then  I'll  stay,"  said  Lucy. 

"  'Twould  be  an  ill  thing  if  such  a  brave  pair  had 
produced  a  chicken-livered  lass,  eh  ?  " 

He  did  not  speak  again  till  everything  there  was  to 
see  had  been  seen,  till  everything  there  was  to  do  had 
been  done ;  it  seemed  a  very  long  business  to  Lucy, 
and  by  the  time  the  doctor  had  finished  tears  were 
rolling  down  her  face.  How  could  she  have  thought 
that  perhaps  Mrs.  Rebell  was  not  much  hurt  after  all  ? 
"  Now  ye're  just  to  have  a  good  sip  of  that  brandy 
ye've  been  giving  Mrs.  Rebell.  I'm  well  pleased  with 
ye  both  !  "  And  when  Lucy  shook  her  head,  he  gave 
her  such  a  look  that  she  hastened  to  obey  him,  and 
suddenly  felt  a  flash  of  sympathy  for  drunkards.  How 
wonderful  that  a  few  spoonfuls  of  this  horrid  stuff  should 
check  her  wish  to  cry,  and  make  her  feel  sensible  again ! 

As  Doctor  McKirdy  unceremoniously  signified  that  he 
could  dispense  with  her  presence,  as  he  unlocked  the  door 
for  her  to  pass  through,  something  in  Lucy's  face 
made  him  follow  her,  unwillingly,  into  the  passage. 
*'  What  is  it  ? "  he  said  sharply. 

Z  9 


3o8,  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  Oh,  Doctor  McKirdy  !  Do  you  think  she  will  die  ?" 
"  Die  ?  Are  ye  mad,  my  poor  lass  ?  There's  no 
question  of  such  a  thing.  She's  more  likely  to  die  o* 
cold  than  anything  else  !  Now  go  downstairs  and  send 
your  fine  friend  Mr.  Boringdon  and  McGregor  this 
way.  We've  got  to  move  her  to  the  Queen's  Room. 
There  have  been  big  fires  there  all  this  week — regard 
for  the  furniture,  the  apple  of  Mrs.  Turke's  eye,  I  said 
they  were  to  get  it  ready — but  we  shall  have  a  business 
getting  her  down  there." 

The  long,  painful  progress  down  the  winding  staircase 
was  safely  over.  Barbara  was  comfortably  settled  in 
the  great  square  canopied  bed,  where,  if  tradition  could 
be  believed,  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  less  magnificent 
successor  had  both,  at  intervals  of  fifty  years,  reposed. 
Madame  Sampiero's  Scotch  attendant  was  installed  as 
nurse,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  Lucy  Kemp  to  do 
but  to  go  home  to  her  solitary  breakfast  at  the  Grange" 
Boringdon,  after  having  done  his  part,  and  a  very 
useful  one,  in  lifting  and  carrying  Mrs.  Rebell  down  the 
two  flights,  had  retreated  into  the  broad  corridor,  and 
w'as  walking  up  and  down  waiting — he  himself  hardly 
knew  for  what. 

But  Doctor  McKirdy  had  quite  made  up  his  mind 
as  to  the  next  thing  to  be  done.  "  Now  then,  you  must 
just  take  Miss  Kemp  home  again,  and  I  charge  you  to 
see  that  she  has  a  good  breakfast !  Take  her  down 
through  the  Park.  The  village  will  be  a  buzzing  wasps' 
nest  by  this  time;  half  of  them  seem  to  think — so  Mrs. 
Turke's  just  told  me — that  we're  all  burnt  to  cinders  I 
You  just  stay  with  the  poor  lass  as  long  as  you  can, 
and  don't  let  Miss  Vipen  or  any  other  havering  woman 
get  at  her  to  be  asking  her  useless  questions.  If  I 
want  you  I'll  send  to  the  Grange.". 


BARBARA  REBELL.  309 

And  so  it  was  to  Doctor  McKirdy  that  Lucy  owed 
the  happy,  peaceful  hours  spent  by  her  that  morning. 
Boringdon  had  dreaded  the  going  back  to  the  Cottage, 
to  his  mother's  excited  questionings  and  reflections,  to 
her  annoyance  that  he  had  gone  to  the  Grange,  rather 
than  to  her,  for  help.  He  knew  he  would  have  to  tell 
her  everything.  She  was  not  a  woman  from  whom  it 
was  possible  to  conceal  very  much,  and  in  the  long  run 
she  always  got  at  the  truth,  but  just  now  it  was  much 
to  be  able  to  put  off  his  return  home. 

Dear  Lucy  !  How  good,  how  sensible,  how  quiet  she 
had  been  !  She  stumbled  over  the  porch  flag-stone,  and 
he  drew  her  arm  through  his.  So  together  they  walked 
down  to  the  Grange.  Oliver  had  never  before  break- 
fasted with  the  Kemps;  how  comfortable,  how  homely 
everything  was!  The  eggs  and  bacon  seemed  crisper 
and  fresher,  also  better,  than  those  ever  eaten  at  the 
Cottage  ;  the  tea  poured  out  by  Lucy  was  certainly 
infinitely  nicer  —  not  for  a  moment  would  Oliver 
have  admitted  that  this  was  owing  to  the  fact  of 
its  being  a  shilling  a  pound  dearer  than  that  made  by 
his  mother ! 

Each  tacitly  agreed  not  to  speak  of  all  that  had  just 
happened  at  the  Priory.  They  talked  of  all  sorts  of 
other  things.  Lucy  heard  with  startled  interest  that 
Oliver  was  thinking  very  seriously  of  giving  up  his 
land  agency,  and  of  going  back,  if  it  were  in  any  way 
possible,  to  London.  What  had  become  the  great 
central  desire  of  his  life  must  never  be  mentioned 
to  any  human  being,  not  even  to  his  dear  friend 
Lucy,  till  its  realisation  was  possible — legally  possible. 
But  even  to  talk  of  his  plans,  as  he  was  now  doing, 
was  a  comfort  ;  his  present  listener,  unlike  his 
mother,  always  seemed  to  understand  his  point  of 
view,   and   to   realise   why  he   had   altered   his   mind 


310  BARBARA   RESELL. 

without  his  being  compelled  to  go  into  tiresome 
explanations. 

After  to-day  Lucy  and  Mrs.  Rebell  would  surely 
become  friends.  Even  within  the  last  few  days 
Barbara  had  said  to  him,  "  I  should  like  to  see  more 
of  Miss  Kemp.  It  was  a  pity  she  and  her  mother 
called  when  I  was  away."  He  liked  to  think  of 
these  two  in  juxtaposition.  If  the  thought  of  life 
without  Barbara  was  intolerable,  not  indeed  to  be 
considered, — once  she  was  free  from  that  West  Indian 
brute,  his  great  love  must,  in  the  long  run,  win  return, 
— the  thought  of  existence  with  no  Lucy  Kemp  as  friend 
was  distinctly  painful.  lie,  Barbara,  and  Lucy,  would  all 
be  happy ;  and  then,  not  yet,  but  in  some  years  to  come, 
for  she  was  still  so  young,  his  and  Barbara's  friend 
would  marry  some  good  honest  fellow — not  Laxton, 
no,  but  such  a  man  as  he  himself  had  been  till  Mrs. 
Rebell  came  to  the  Prioiy,  one  to  whom  Lucy's  for- 
tune would  be  useful  in  promoting  a  public  career. 

At  last,  about  twelve,  he  reluctantly  rose,  and  Lucy 
went  with  him  to  the  door.  Suddenly  it  struck  him 
that  she  looked  very  tired,  "  Lucy,"  he  exclaimed — 
they  had  just  said  good-bye,  but  he  still  held  her 
hand — "  promise  me  that  you  will  rest  all  this  after- 
noon. Perhaps  you  would  be  wiser  to  go  to  bed,  and 
then  no  one — not  even  Miss  Vipen — can  come  and 
trouble  you  !  "  He  spoke  with  his  usual  friendly — one 
of  those  near  and  dear  to  Lucy  would  have  described 
it  as  priggish — air  of  authority.  She  drew  away  her 
hand,  and  laughed  nervously, — but  he  again  repeated 
**  Please  promise  me  that  you  will  have  a  good  rest." 

**  I  promise,"  said  Lucy. 

"  I  promise  " — Lucy,  sleeping  restlessly  through  the 
winter  afternoon  and  evening,  found  herself  repeating 


BARBARA   REBELL.  311 

the  two  words  again  and  again.  What  had  she 
promised  ?  That  she  would  rest.  Well,  she  was 
fulfilling  that  promise.  As  soon  as  Oliver  had  left 
her,  she  had  gone  up,  full  of  measureless  lassitude,  to 
bed.  Then  she  would  wake  with  a  start  to  hear  Mrs. 
Rebell's  imploring  voice,  "  Promise — if  I  die — "  and 
then,  "  No  one  must  know — " 

How  would  Mr.  Berwick  take  the  piteous  mes- 
sage ?  Lucy  had  always  felt  afraid  of  him,  but  she 
had  promised — 

Then  came  the  comforting  recollection  of  Doctor 
McKirdy's  gruff  whisper.  Oh  no,  poor  Mrs.  Rebell 
was  not  going  to  die,  and  she,  Lucy,  would  never  have 
to  redeem  her  promise.  But  if  Mrs.  Rebell  cared  for 
Mr.  Berwick,  would  not  Oliver  be  unhappy  ? 

And  Lucy,  sitting  up  in  bed,  pushed  her  fair  hair 
off  her  hot  forehead.  The  whole  thing  seemed  so 
unreal !  Barbara  Rebell  was  not  free  to  care  for  any- 
one. Of  course  there  were  horrid  women  in  the  world 
who  cared  for  other  people  than  their  own  husbands, 
though  Lucy  had  never  met  any  of  them,  but  she  knew 
they  existed.  But  those  were  the  sort  of  women  who 
rouged  and  were  "  fast  " — not  gentle,  kindly  souls  like 
poor  brave  Mrs.  Rebell. 

General  and  Mrs.  Kemp,  paying  a  short  visit  to 
Anglo-Indian  friends  who  had  taken  a  house  in  the 
neighbourhood,  little  knew  the  physical  and  mental 
ordeal  to  which  their  absence  had  exposed  their 
darling. 

Three  days  had  gone  by  since  the  fire.  Doctor 
McKirdy  was  quite  honest  in  telling  Madame  Sampiero 
that  he  was  pleased  and  astonished  at  the  progress 
Barbara  had  made,  and  yet  the  paralysed  woman  felt 
that  her  old  friend  was  keeping  something  back. 


312  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  muttered.  "  You  are  not  telling 
me  everything,  McKirdy  1 " 

And  so  he  spoke  out :  **  When  a  human  being  has 
gone  through  such  an  experience  as  that  of  the  other 
night,  what  we  doctors  have  to  fear,  quite  as  much  as 
the  actual  injury, — which  in  this  case,  as  I  tell  you,  is 
not  so  very  bad,  after  all, — is  shock."  He  paused,  and 
his  listener  made  him  feel,  in  some  subtle  fashion,  that 
she  could  have  well  spared  this  preamble.  "  Now,  the 
surprising  thing  about  Mrs.  Rebell  is  that  she  is  not 
suffering  from  shock  !  Her  mind  is  so  full  of  something 
else,  perhaps  't  would  be  more  honest  to  say  of  someone 
else,  that  she  has  no  thought  to  spare  for  that  horrid 
experience  of  hers.  She  is  concerned,  very  much 
so,  about  her  appearance,"  the  old  Scotchman's  eyes 
twinkled.  "There  she's  as  much  the  woman  as  any  of 
them !  But  she  has  good  nights — better  nights,  so  she 
confesses,  than  she  had  before  the  fire.  There  she  lies 
thinking,  not  of  flames  mind  you,  but  of — well,  you 
know  of  whom  she's  thinking  !  She's  wondering  if  any 
of  us  have  written  and  told  Jamie  of  the  affair ;  she's 
asking  herself  how  he'll  take  it,  whether  he'll  be 
hurrying  back,  whether,  if  he  does  come,  she'll  be 
informed  of  it.  Then  there's  Boringdon's  fashing  him- 
self to  bits,  wondering  how  long  it  will  be  before  he 
is  allowed  to  see  her,  trying  to  get  news  of  her  in 
devious  ways,  even  coming  to  me  when  all  else  fails ! 
Mrs.  Kemp's  lass  is  the  only  sensible  one  among  'em. 
I've  been  thinking  of  getting  her  to  come  and  sit 
with  Mrs.  Rebell  for  a  bit,  'twould  just  distract  her 
mind " 

So  it  was  that  Lucy  Kemp  received  a  note  from  Doctor 
McKirdy  asking  her  to  be  good  enough  to  come  and 
see  Mrs.  Rebell,  and  Mrs.  Kemp  was  struck  with  the 
eagerness  with  which  the  girl  obeyed  the  call. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  313 

Lucy's  parents  had  found  her  still  tired  and  listless 
when  they  came  back,  cutting  short  their  visit  as  soon 
as  they  heard  the  news  of  the  fire,  and  the  part  their 
daughter  had  played ;  but  with  the  coming  of  the  old 
doctor's  summons  all  Lucy's  tiredness  had  gone — "  If 
you  will  come  up  after  you  have  had  your  tea,"  so  ran 
the  note,  "you  might  sit  with  her  an  hour.  I  have 
ascertained  that  she  would  like  to  see  jrou.'* 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"  II  n'y  a  nen  de  doux  comme  Ic  retour  de  joie  qui  suit  le 
renoncement  de  la  joie,  rien  de  vif,  de  profond,  de  charmant, 
comme  I'enchantement  du  d^senchante." 

Oliver  Boringdon  held  in  his  hand  the  West 
Indian  letter  which  he  knew  was  an  answer  to  the 
one  he  had  written  to  his  brother-in-law  rather  more 
than  a  month  before.  For  nearly  a  week  he  had  made 
it  his  business  to  be  always  at  home  when  the  postman 
called,  and  this  had  required  on  his  part  a  certain 
amount  of  contrivance  which  was  intensely  disagreeable 
to  his  straightforward  nature.  He  had  missed  but  one 
post — that  which  had  come  on  the  morning  of  the  fire 
at  Chancton  Priory. 

Three  days  had  gone  by  since  then,  but  his  nerves 
were  still  quivering,  not  yet  wholly  under  his  own 
control,  and  to  such  a  man  as  Boringdon  this  sensation 
was  not  only  unpleasant,  but  something  to  be  ashamed 
of.  The  hand  holding  the  large  square  envelope, 
addressed  in  the  neat  clear  writing  of  Andrew  John- 
stone, shook  so  that  the  letter  fell,  still  unopened,  on 
the  gravel  at  Oliver's  feet.  He  stooped  and  picked  it 
up,  then  turned  into  the  garden  and  so  through  a  large 
meadow  which  led  ultimately  to  the  edge  of  the  downs, 
at  this  time  of  the  year  generally  deserted.  Not  till  he 
was  actually  there,  with  no  possibility  of  sudden  inter- 
ruption, did  he  break  the  seal  of  his  brother-in-law's 
thick  letter. 

At  once  he  saw  with  quick  disappointment  that  what 


BARBARA   RESELL.  315 

had  so  weighted  the  envelope  was  one  of  his  sister 
Grace's  long  letters ;  her  husband's  note  only  consisted 
of  a  few  lines : — 

"  Grace  insists  on  your  being  told  more  than  I  feel 
we  are  justified  in  telling.  Still,  I  believe  her  informa- 
tion is  substantially  correct.  There  would  be  very 
serious  difftculties  in  the  way  of  what  you  suggest.  By 
next  mail  you  shall  know  more." 

For  a  moment  he  felt  full  of  unreasoning  anger 
against  Johnstone.  He  had  asked  a  perfectly  plain 
question — namely,  whether  it  would  not  be  possible 
for  Mrs.  Rebell  to  obtain  a  divorce  from  the  man  of 
whom  Grace  had  given  so  terrible  an  account ;  and  in 
answer  to  that  question  his  brother-in-law  merely 
referred  him  to  Grace  and  spoke  of  "serious  diffi- 
culties " !  Well,  whatever  these  were,  they  must  be 
surmounted.  Oliver  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to 
resign  his  post  of  agent  to  the  Chancton  estate,  and  he 
would  use  his  little  remaining  capital  in  going  out  to 
Santa  Maria,  there  to  do  what  lay  in  his  power  to 
set  Barbara  free.  Again  he  glanced  at  Johnstone's 
laconic  note,  and  between  the  lines  he  read  consider- 
able disapproval  of  himself.  He  set  his  teeth  and 
turned  to  the  sheets  of  paper  covered  with  Grace's 
large  handwriting. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  there  leapt  to  his  eyes  a  sentence 
which  brought  with  it  such  a  rush  of  uncontrollable 
relief  that  the  sensation  seemed  akin  to  pain, — and  yet 
he  felt  a  species  of  horror  that  this  was  so,  for  the  words 
which  altered  his  whole  outlook  on  life  were  these  : — 

'*  My  darling  Oliver,  Pedro  Rebell  is  dying." 

What  matter  if  Grace  went  on  to  qualify  that  first 
statement  considerably, — to  confess  that  she  only  knew 
of  the    wretched  man's  condition   from  a   not   very 


3i6  RBABARA   REBELL. 

trustworthy  source,  but  that  before  next  mail  Andrew 
would  go  over  himself,  "  though  he  does  not  like  the 
idea  of  doing  so,"  to  see  if  the  report  was  well  founded? 
"  Andrew  says,"  she  went  on,  *'  that  of  course  it  will 
be  his  duty  to  try  and  keep  him  alive." 

Boringdon  beat  the  turf  viciously  with  his  stick,  and 
then  felt  bitterly  ashamed  of  himself. 

Only  one  passage  in  his  sister's  letter  gave  definite 
information — 

"  Is  it  not  odd  that  a  place  where  they  send  con- 
sumptive people  from  home  should  have  so  many  native 
cases  ?  Pedro  Rebell  treats  himself  in  the  most  idiotic 
manner — he  is  being  actually  attended  by  a  witch 
doctor  I  I  am  more  glad  than  I  can  say  that  poor 
Barbara  got  safe  away  before  he  became  suddenly 
worse.  Andrew  confesses  that  he  knew  the  man  was 
very  ill  when  we  moved  her  here,  but  he  said  nothing, 
so  like  him,  because  he  thought  that  if  Barbara  knew 
she  simply  wouldn't  leave  the  plantation " 

Again  Oliver  turned  to  Johnstone's  note — "  still,  I 
believe  that  her  information  is  substantially  correct;  " 
it  was  curious  how  immensely  that  one  dry  cautious 
sentence  enhanced  the  value  of  Grace's  long  letter. 

Boringdon  walked  slowly  back  into  the  village  by  the 
lovely  lane — lovely  even  in  its  present  leafless  bareness 
— down  which  Doctor  McKirdy  had  accompanied  Mrs. 
Rebell  the  first  morning  of  her  stay  at  the  Priory  three 
months  ago.  Oliver  recalled  that  first  meeting  ;  it  had 
taken  place  just  where  he  was  now  walking,  where  the 
lane  emerged  on  the  open  down.  He  remembered  his 
annoyance  when  Berwick  had  stared  so  fixedly  at  the 
old  Scotchman's  companion. 

James  Berwick !  The  evocation  of  his  friend's 
peculiar,  masterful  personality  was  not  pleasant.     But  a 


BARBARA   REBELL.  317 

slight,  rather  grim  smile,  came  over  Boringdon's  lips. 
The  moment  Mrs.  Rebell  became  a  widow,  she  would 
be  labelled  "  dangerous "  in  the  eyes  of  James  and 
Arabella  Berwick.  Oliver  had  known  something  of  the 
Louise  Marshall  episode,  and,  without  for  a  moment 
instituting  any  real  comparison  between  the  two  cases, 
his  mind  unconsciously  drew  the  old  moral,  "  The 
burnt  child  dreads  the  fire."  If  it  became  advisable, 
but  he  did  not  think  it  at  all  likely  that  it  would, 
he  would  certainly  tell  Berwick  the  news  contained  in 
Grace's  letter. 

When  passing  the  Priory  gates,  he  met  Lucy  Kemp. 
**  Mrs.  Rebell  must  be  much  better,"  she  said  gladly, 
"  for  Doctor  McKirdy  has  asked  me  to  go  and  sit  with 
her  for  an  hour."  Oliver  turned  and  went  with  her  up 
to  the  porch  of  the  great  house,  lingered  a  moment  to 
receive  the  latest  good  but  colourless  bulletin,  and  then 
walked  down  to  the  estate  office. 

He  had  not  been  there  many  moments  when  a  car- 
riage dashed  furiously  up  the  steep  village  street,  the 
horses  galloping  past  the  window  of  the  room  in  which 
Boringdon  sat  writing. 

Doctor  McKirdy  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  and,  as  Lucy 
came  forward  rather  timidly,  he  looked  at  her  not  very 
pleasantly.  **  You've  been  a  long  while,"  he  said 
crossly,  "  a  very  long  while,  and  who  was  it  came  with 
you  to  the  door  ?  But  I  won't  trouble  ye  to  answer 
me,  for  I  heard  the  voice — I've  heard  it  more  than 
once  this  day.  I  doubt  that  ye  ever  were  told,  Miss 
Lucy,  of  the  bachelors'  club  to  which  Rabbie  Burns 
belonged  as  a  youth.  Membership  was  only  conferred 
on  the  spark  who  could  prove  his  allegiance  to  more 
than  one  lass.  Your  friend  Mr.  Oliver  Boringdon  would 
ha'  been  very  eligible,  I'm  thinking  !  " 


3i8  BARBARA   REBELL. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  say  such  a 
thing,  Doctor  McKirdy  !  " 

"  Toots  !  Toots  !  "  The  doctor  felt  like  a  lion  con- 
fronted with  an  angry  lamb ;  he  saw  he  had  gone  too 
far.  Bless  us,  what  a  spirit  the  girl  had  !  He  rather 
liked  her  for  it.  "This  way,"  he  said,  more  amiably; 
"  not  so  far  up  as  the  other  morning,  eh  ?  When 
you're  with  her,  you  just  chatter  about  the  things 
ladies  like  to  talk  about — ^just  light  nonsense,  you 
know.  No  going  back  to  the  fire,  mind  1  She  doesn't 
trouble  her  head  much  about  it,  and  I  don't  want  her 
to  begin." 

He  opened  a  door,  and  Lucy  walked  through  into 
the  beautiful  room  where  Barbara  now  lay,  in  the 
immense  canopied  bed,  her  left  shoulder  and  arm  out- 
lined by  a  wicker  cage-like  arrangement.  Her  hair  was 
concealed  by  a  white  hood,  L^onie's  handiwork,  and, 
as  Lucy  drew  near,  she  lifted  her  free  hand  off  the  em- 
broidered coverlet,  and  laid  it  on  that  of  the  girl. 

Doctor  McKirdy  stood  by.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  old  Jean 
she  needn't  disturb  you  for  a  bit,  and  now  I'll  be  going 
home.  You'll  see  me  after  supper."  He  nodded  his 
head,  but  Barbara,  still  holding  Lucy's  gloved  hand, 

was  speaking.    "You  won't  forget  the  Scotsman "  in 

her  eagerness  she  moved,  and  in  doing  so  she  suddenly 
winced. 

"  Never  fear  it !  But  the  one  we  want  to  see  won't  be 
here  till  to-morrow  afternoon — the  meeting  was  only 
last  night."  He  spoke  in  a  very  gentle  voice,  and  then 
walked  quickly  to  the  door. 

"Sit  down  just  there,  behind  the  leaf  of  the  screen, 
and  then  I  can  see  you.  I'm  afraid  I  gave  you  a  great 
fright  the  other  night  ?  How  good  you  were  to  me  I 
Doctor  McKirdy  tells  me  that  it  might  have  been  much 
worse,  and  that  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  few  weeks " 


BARBARA   REBELL.  319 

Suddenly  Barbara  lifted  her  head  a  little, — "  Miss 
Kemp  I  Lucy  1     What  is  the  matter  ?  ** 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all !  Doctor  McKirdy  made 
a  remark  that  annoyed  me.  It  is  stupid  of  me  to 
mind."  Poor  Lucy  tried  to  smile,  but  her  lips  quivered ; 
she  repeated,  "It  really  was  nothing,  but  you  know 
how  odd  he  is,  and — and  rude,  sometimes  ?  " 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  coming  quickly  up  through 
the  trees,  and  then  being  driven  more  carefully  round 
the  broad  sweep  of  lawn,  and  so  to  the  space  before  the 
porch,  put  an  end  to  a  moment  of  rather  painful  silence. 
Then  the  bell  pealed  loudly  through  the  house — a 
vigorous  peal.  "  Someone  coming  to  inquire  how  you 
are,"  suggested  Lucy  diffidently,  but  Barbara  made  no 
answer,  she  was  listening  intently.  Would  McGregor 
never  answer  that  insistent  summons  ?  At  last  they 
heard  the  front  door  being  opened,  and  then  quickly  shut 
again.  Now  the  carriage  was  driving  away,  quite 
slowly,  in  very  different  fashion  from  that  of  its  arrival. 

Barbara  closed  her  eyes,  absurdly  disappointed.  What 
reason  had  she  to  suppose  that  Berwick  would  hasten 
back  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  great  danger  she  had 
been  in  ?  And  even  if  something  in  her  heart  assured 
her  that  in  this  matter  her  instinct  was  not  at  fault, 
who  would  have  conveyed  the  news  to  him  ?  Not 
Oliver  Boringdon,  not  Doctor  McKirdy  ?  Poor  Barbara 
was  very  ignorant  of  the  geography  of  her  own  country, 
but  she  knew  that  Scotland  was  a  long  way  off,  and 
the  most  important  of  the  meetings  he  had  gone  there 
to  attend  had  taken  place  only  the  night  before. 

But  hark !  there  came  a  sound  of  quick  muffled  foot- 
steps down  the  short  corridor.  A  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Berwick  was  in  the  room — Berwick,  haggard,  sunken- 
eyed,  bearing  on  his  face,  now  ravaged  with  contending 
feelings,  a  look  of  utter  physical  fatigue.    For  a  moment 


3«o  BARBARA  REBELL. 

he  stood  hesitating.  McGregor  had  told  him  that  Miss 
Kemp  was  with  Mrs.  Rebell,  but,  as  he  looked  round 
with  a  quick  searching  look,  the  room  seemed  to  him 
to  hold  only  Barbara — he  saw  nothing  but  Barbara's 
little  head  lying  propped  up  on  a  large  pillow,  her  eyes, 
her  lips  smiling  at  him  with  an  odd  look  of  deprecating 
tenderness,  as  if  his  being  there  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  and  yet  as  if  she  understood  the 
dreadful  night  and  day  he  had  gone  through,  and  felt 
grieved  to  think  he  was  so  tired. 

Very  slowly,  still  held  by  her  eyes,  he  came  forward, 
and  as  he  sank  on  his  knees,  and  laid  his  cheek  on  the 
hand  stretched  out  on  the  coverlet,  he  saw  with  shud- 
dering pain  by  what  her  other  hand  and  arm  were 
concealed,  and  he  broke  into  hard,  difficult  sobs. 

Lucy  got  up,  and  almost  ran  to  the  door, — she  felt  a 
passion  of  sympathy  and  pity  for  them  both.  Then  she 
waited  in  the  corridor,  wondering  what  she  ought  to 
do — what  Barbara  would  wish  her  to  do.  But  that 
point,  as  generally  happens  in  this  world,  was  settled  for 
her.  Doctor  McKirdy  suddenly  loomed  in  front  .of 
her,  and  even  before  she  saw  him,  as  the  staircase 
creaked  under  his  heavy  footsteps,  Lucy  heard  him 
muttering  something  to  himself. 

"  Then  he's  in  there,  eh  ?  And  they've  sent  you  out 
here?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort !  "  said  Lucy  briefly  :  **  I  came 
out  without  being  sent." 

"  Well,  now,  you  must  just  go  in  again,  and  I'll 
follow.  A  fine  thing  it  would  be  for  the  jabbering  folk 
of  Chancton  to  learn  of  these  crazy  comings  and 
goings !  "  And,  as  Lucy  made  no  haste  to  obey  him, 
he  added  sharply,  "  Now  you  just  knock  and  open  the 
door  and  walk  right  in.  We  don't  want  old  Jean  to  be 
the  one  to  disturb  them,  eh  ?  " 


BARBARA   REBELL.  321 

Lucy  knocked,  and  opened  the  door  with  hesitating 
fingers.  What  she  then  saw  was  James  Berwick  quietly 
engaged  in  putting  some  coal  on  the  fire ;  as  the 
girl  and  Doctor  McKirdy  came  in,  he  did  not  look  round, 
but  went  on  mechanically  picking  up  the  little  lumps 
and  putting  them  noiselessly  into  the  grate. 

"Well  now,  you've  had  two  visitors,  that's  quite 
enough  for  one  day," — the  doctor  spoke  very  gently. 
"  Here's  Miss  Kemp  come  to  say  good-bye,  and  Mr. 
Berwick  no  doubt  will  do  himself  the  pleasure  of  taking 
her  to  the  Grange,  for  it's  a  very  dark  night."  He 
added  in  an  aside,  "  I'm  always  finding  you  cavaliers, 
eh,  Miss  Lucy  ?  " 

Berwick  came  forward :  "  Yes,  of  course  I  will ! 
By  the  way,  I'm  staying  here  to-night,  so  will  you  dine 
with  me,  McKirdy  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  think  I  will.  By  the  way,  I'll  be 
staying  here  too,  and  you'll  do  well  to  have  your  dinner 
in  your  bed,  I'm  thinking."  He  followed  Barbara's 
two  visitors  to  the  door:  *'  I  can't  make  out  how  you 
ever  did  it,  man,  if  it's  true  the  meeting  didn't  break  up 
till  after  twelve " 

For  the  first  time  Berwick  laughed.  **  Come,"  he 
said,  "  where  are  your  wits  ?  Specials,  of  course — 
and  if  we  hadn't  had  a  stupid,  an  inexcusable  delay  at 
Crewe,  I  should  have  been  here  hours  ago  !  " 

And  then,  without  again  looking  at  Barbara,  he 
followed  Lucy  out  into  the  corridor,  and  down  into  the 
hall. 

**  Just  one  moment.  Miss  Kemp.  I  must  put  on  my 
boots.     I  took  them  off  before  coming  upstairs." 

**  But  I  can  go  home  alone  perfectly  well." 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  take  you.  Mrs.  Rebel! 
has  been  telling  me  how  good  you  were  to  her  the  other 
night " 

B.R.  T 


32X  BARBARA   REBELL. 

And  not  another  word  was  said  by  him  or  by  Lucy  till 
they  exchanged  a  brief  good-night  at  the  Grange  gate. 

The  Priory  and  its  inmates  settled  down  to  a  long 
period  of  quietude.  With  the  possible  exception  of 
Lucy  Kemp  and  Oliver  Boringdon — who  both  called 
there  daily — little  or  nothing  was  known  in  the  village 
save  that  Mrs.  Rebell  was  slowly,  very  slowly,  getting 
better.  No  Chancton  gossip  could  discover  exactly 
how  much  she  had  been  injured,  and  even  Mrs. 
Boringdon  could  learn  nothing  definite  from  her  son. 

At  last  there  came  a  day  when  the  mistress  of 
Chancton  Cottage  thought  she  would  make  a  little 
experiment.  "  Is  it  true  that  Mrs.  Rebell  is  now  allowed 
to  be  downstairs  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  are  seeing  her,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes,  for  a  little  while." 

*'  Parliament  met  last  week,  didn't  it  ?  "  The  question 
sounded  rather  irrelevant. 

Oliver  looked  up  :  "  Yes,  mother,  of  course — on  the 
fifteenth." 

"  Then  Mr.  Berwick  won't  be  able  to  be  here  so 
much.  Miss  Vipen  tells  me  that  the  village  people  all 
think  he  must  be  in  love  with  Mrs.  Rebell !  " 

Mrs.  Boringdon's  words  had  an  effect  very  different 
from  what  she  had  intended  them  to  have.  They  drew 
from  her  son  neither  assent  nor  denial,  but  they  con- 
firmed and  made  real  to  him  certain  facts  from  which  he 
had  shrunk,  and  which  he  had  tried  to  persuade  himself 
did  not  exist.  For  five  long  weeks  he  had  been  alive 
to  the  knowledge  that  Berwick  was  continually  with 
Barbara — in  fact,  that  he  was  with  her  whenever  he 
chose  to  be,  excepting  during  those  few  moments  when 
he,  Boringdon,  was  grudgingly  allowed  to  have  a  few 


BARBARA   REBELL.  323 

minutes'  talk,  generally  in  the  presence  of  some  third 
person,  with  the  invalid.  The  state  of  things  at  the 
Priory  had  made  the  young  man  so  wretched,  so  indig- 
nant, that  more  than  once  he  had  felt  tempted  to  attack 
Doctor  McKirdy.  What  did  they  all  mean  by  allowing 
James  Berwick  to  behave  as  if  he  were  Mrs.  Rebell's 
brother  instead  of  a  mere  acquaintance  ? 

And  so  Mrs.  Boringdon's  words  spurred  her  son  to 
do  that  which  he  had  hoped  would  not  be  necessary. 
They  showed  him  that  the  time  had  come  for  a  clear 
explanation  between  himself  and  Berwick.  He  told 
himself  that  the  latter  would  probably  be  surprised  to 
learn  how  his  constant  visits  to  the  Priory  were  regarded ; 
still,  the  matter  could  not  be  to  him  one  of  vital  concern, 
and  when  once  the  man  who  had  been  for  so  many 
years  his  friend  told  him  how  matters  stood,  he  would 
surely  leave  Chancton. 

Boringdon  thought  he  knew  only  too  well  James 
Berwick's  peculiar  moral  code ;  certain  things  he  might 
be  trusted  not  to  do.  Thus,  Oliver  had  heard  him  speak 
with  condemnation  of  the  type  of  man  who  makes  love 
to  a  happily-married  woman,  or  who  takes  advantage  of 
his  amatory  science  to  poach  on  an  intimate's  preserves. 
Surely  he  would  withdraw  from  this  strange  sentimental 
friendship  with  Barbara  Rebell  the  moment  it  was  made 
clear  to  him  that  she  would  soon  be  free, — free  to  be 
wooed  and  won  by  any  honest  man,  and,  as  a  matter  01 
fact,  already  loved  by  Boringdon,  his  friend  of  so  many 
years'  standing  ?  Accordingly,  after  a  day  or  two  of  painful 
hesitation,  Oliver  wrote  a  note,  more  formal  in  its  wording 
than  usual,  and  asked  Berwick  for  an  appointment. 

He  received  his  answer — life  is  full  of  such  ironies — 
in  Mrs.  Rebell's  presence,  on  the  day  when  she  was  allowed 
to  take  her  first  drive  in  the  little  French  brougham, 
which,  as  Boringdon  noted  with  jealous  eyes,  had  been 

Y  2 


324  BARBARA   REBELL. 

sent  over  for  her  use  from  Chillingworth.  Oliver 
happened  to  come  up  to  the  porch  of  the  Priory  as 
Berwick  was  actually  settlin^^  her  and  the  grim  Scotch- 
woman, Jean,  into  the  carriage.  Barbara  was  flushed 
and  smiling — a  happy  light  in  her  eyes.  "  I'm  so  sorry 
to  be  going  out  just  now,"  she  cried,  "  Will  you  come 
to  tea  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Boringdon  ?  Miss  Kemp  is 
coming,  and  I  shall  be  down  in  the  Blue  drawing-room 
for  the  first  time.     To-day  is  a  day  of  first  times  1 " 

Then  Berwick  turned  round  :  "  I  didn't  answer  your 
note  because  I  thought  I  should  almost  certainly  be 
seeing  you  to-day.  Would  you  like  to  come  over  to 
Chillingworth  this  evening  ?  Come  to  dinner,  and  we 
can  have  a  talk  afterwards " 

But  Boringdon  answered  quickly :  "  Thanks,  I  won't 
come  to  dinner,  I'll  turn  up  about  nine." 

And  now  Berwick  sat  waiting  for  Boringdon  in  the 
room  where  he  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  after  his 
drive  with  Barbara  from  Halnakcham  Castle. 

He  was  in  that  delightful  state  of  mind  which 
comes  so  rarely  to  thinking  mortals, — when  the  thinker 
wishes  to  look  neither  backwards  nor  forwards.  It 
was  worth  while  to  have  gone  through  all  he  had 
gone  through,  to  have  won  such  weeks  as  had  been 
his !  Nay  more,  he  was  in  the  mood  to  tell  him- 
self that  he  would  be  content  were  life  to  go  on  as  it 
was  now  for  ever  and  a  day,  were  his  relations  with 
Mrs.  Rebell  to  remain  as  close,  as  tender — ay,  even  as 
platonic — as  they  had  been  during  that  strange  period 
of  her  convalescence.  With  what  emotion,  with  what 
sympathy  she  had  described  to  him  her  interview  with 
Lord  Bosworth ;  there  had  been  such  complete  com- 
prehension of  his  attitude,  such  keen  distress  that 
Madame  Sampiero  had  repulsed  him  ! 


BARBARA   REBELL.  325 

But,  deep  in  Berwick's  heart,  something  told  him  that 
Barbara's  attitude  to  him  and  to  their  joint  future  was 
changing,  and  that  she  was  in  very  truth  on  the  eve  of 
surrender.  Nature,  so  he  assured  himself  to-night  had 
triumphed  over  convention,  and,  as  a  still  voice  also 
whispered,  proved  stronger  than  conscience.  Berwick's 
own  conscience  was  not  ill  at  ease,  but  he  experienced 
many  phases  of  feeling,  and  went  through  many  moods. 

Lately  he  had  asked  himself  boldly  whether  there 
was  any  real  reason  why  he  and  Barbara  should  not 
repeat,  in  happier  fashion,  the  example  set  them  by  the 
two  beings  for  whom  they  both  had  so  sincere  and — yes, 
it  might  be  said,  reverent — an  affection  ?  Those  two. 
Lord  Bosworth  and  Madame  Sampiero,  had  shown  that 
it  was  possible  to  be  grandly  faithful  to  a  tie  unsanc- 
tioned by  law,  unsanctified  by  religious  faith.  Already 
Berwick's  love  for  Barbara  had  purified  and  elevated 
his  nature ;  surely  together  they  might  use  his  vast 
fortune  to  better  purpose  than  he  had  done  alone,  for 
he  had  long  ago  discovered  how  tender,  how  charitable 
were  all  her  impulses.  Then,  again,  he  would  acknow- 
ledge to  himself,  with  something  like  impatient  amaze- 
ment, that  he  loved  Barbara  too  well,  too  intimately,  to 
ask  her  to  do  violence  to  her  sensitive,  rather  scru- 
pulous conscience.  She  could  scarcely  be  more  his  own 
than  he  felt  her  to  be  now. 

Of  the  man  for  whom  he  was  now  waiting,  Berwick 
had  long  ago  ceased  to  be  jealous.  He  felt  ashamed  to 
remember  that  he  had  ever  been  so  ;  nay,  he  now  under- 
stood from  Barbara  that  Boringdon  liked  Lucy  Kemp. 
Was  she  not  just  the  sort  of  girl  whom  he  would  have 
expected  such  a  man  as  Oliver  to  choose  for  a  wife  ?  As 
to  Barbara  Rebell,  of  course  Boringdon  had  liked  to  be 
with  her, — had  been  perhaps,  if  all  the  truth  were  known, 
caught  for  a  moment  by  her  charm,  as  who  could  help 


326  BARBARA   REBELL. 

being  ?  But  Berwick  was  not  in  a  mood  to  waste  much 
thouglit  on  such  speculations,  and  no  presentiment  of 
what  OHver  was  coming  to  say  to  him  to-night  shadowed 
his  exquisite  content,  or  his  satisfaction  with  himself, 
with  the  woman  he  loved,  and  with  the  whole  of  this 
delightful  world. 

In  fact,  he  thought  he  knew  quite  well  why  Boringdon 
wished  to  see  him.  The  head  of  the  public  depart- 
ment in  which  Oliver  had  begun  his  suddenly  interrupted 
career  as  a  member  of  the  Civil  Service,  had  lately  said 
to  Berwick,  "  So  your  friend  Boringdon  wants  to  come 
back  to  us  ?  I  think  in  his  case  an  exception  might  be 
made  1 "  And  Berwick  had  done  what  was  in  his  power 
to  gratify  the  other's  rather  inexplicable  wish  to  get 
once  more  into  official  harness.  The  Chancton  experi- 
ment had  evidently  been  a  mistake.  Boringdon  had  not 
possessed  the  qualities  necessary  for  such  a  post  as  that 
of  land  agent  to  Madame  Sampiero  ;  he  had  not  under- 
stood, or,  if  he  had  understood,  he  had  not  chosen  to 
take,  his  friend's  hint  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  old 
McKirdy.  Well,  it  couldn't  be  helped !  Of  course 
Oliver  must  feel  the  telling  of  his  news  rather  awkward, 
but  he,  Berwick,  would  meet  him  half  way,  and  make  it 
clear  that,  though  he  was  personally  sorry  Boringdon  was 
leaving  Chancton,  he  thoroughly  understood  his  reasons 
for  doing  so,  and,  what  was  more,  sympathised  with  them. 

As  it  struck  nine  from  the  various  clocks  which  had 
been  a  special  hobby  of  the  man  who  had  built 
Chillingworth,  Boringdon  walked  in,  and  his  first 
abrupt  words  confirmed  Berwick's  belief  concerning  the 
subject  of  their  coming  conversation  :  "  I  am  leaving 
Chancton,  and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  my  deter- 
mination before  speaking  to  Madame  Sampiero.  There 
aeems  a  chance  of  my  getting  back  to  the  old  shop  1 " 


BARBARA   REBELL.  327 

Berwick  nodded  his  head  ;  he  pushed  a  large  box  of 
cigars  across  the  table  which  stood  between  them.  **  I 
know,"  he  said,  "  I  met  Kingdon  last  week,  and  by  a 
word  he  let  fall  I  gathered  that  you  were  thinking  of 
doing  this.  Well,  of  course  I'm  sorry,  but  I  know 
you've  done  your  best,  and  after  all  no  one  could  have 
foreseen  how  difBcult  the  position  would  be  !  I  suppose 
they  will  have  to  go  back  to  the  unsatisfactory  plan 
with  McKirdy."  But  at  the  back  of  the  speaker's  mind 
was  the  thought  that,  if  he  was  as  much  at  the  Priory 
as  he  hoped  to  be,  he  might  himself  be  able  to  look 
into  things  rather  more — 

Neither  man  spoke  again  for  a  few  moments ;  then 
Boringdon  got  up,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
**  But  that,"  he  said,  "  is  not  all  I  have  come  to  say  to 
you.  I  am  really  taking  this  step  because  it  is  my 
intention  " — he  hesitated,  and  Berwick  perceived  that  a 
peculiarly  dogged  expression  had  come  over  the  dark, 
rather  narrow  face, — "  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  it  is  my 
intention,"  repeated  Oliver,  **to  ask  Mrs.  Rebell  to 
become  my  wife." 

His  host  looked  up  at  him  with  frank  astonishment, 
and  a  good  deal  of  concern.  "  But,  my  dear  fellow," 
he  began  rather  hurriedly,  "  is  it  possible  that  you  don't 
know  ? " 

•*  I  know  everything."  Boringdon  raised  his  voice, 
then  went  on  more  calmly,  "  But  I  do  not  suppose 
that  you  yourself,  Berwick,  are  aware  that  Mrs.  Rebell's 
husband  is  dying,  that  there  is  every  chance  that  in  a 
few  months,  or  perhaps  in  a  few  weeks,  she  will  be  a 
widow — free,  that  is,  to  accept  an  offer  of  marriage." 

In  one  sense  Boringdon  had  certainly  succeeded  in 
his  object.  More  than  he  was  ever  destined  to  know, 
his  words,  his  revelation,  had  brought  the  man  before 
him  sharp  up  to  his  bearings.      James  Berwick  was 


328  BARBARA   REBELL. 

both  amazed  and  discomfited  by  this  unexpected  piece 
of  news,  and  for  the  moment  it  made  him  very  ill  at  ease. 

He  had  been  playing  with  a  tortoiseshell  paper 
knife ;  suddenly  it  snapped  in  two,  and,  with  an 
oath,  he  threw  the  pieces  down  on  the  table  and 
got  up  from  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  lying 
back. 

**  Are  you  quite  sure  of  your  information  ?  "  he  said 
slowly.  "  It's  ill  waiting  for  dead  men's  shoes."  Then 
he  felt  ashamed  of  what  he  had  just  said,  and  he 
added,  more  to  give  himself  time  for  thought  than 
anything  else  :  "  Have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  that 

Mrs.  Rebell ?"  Then  he  stopped  abruptly,  realising 

that  he  had  been  betrayed  into  making  a  remark  which 
to  Boringdon  must  seem  an  outrage. 

But  the  other  had  not  apparently  taken  it  in  that 
sense.  "  No,  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Mrs. 
Rebell  has  ever  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  think  far 
too  well  of  her  to  suppose  it  for  a  moment,"  Oliver  was 
speaking  very  deliberately.  "  I  received  the  news  of 
the  man's  state  within  a  very  few  days  of  the  fire  at  the 
Priory,  and  it  has  since  been  confirmed.  He  has,  it  seems, 
some  kind  of  bad  chest  disease,  accelerated,  I  fancy, 
by  drink.  As  yet  she  knows  nothing  of  it.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  add  that  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
she  will  accept  the  offer  I  mean  to  make  her  as  soon  as 
a  decent  interval  of  time  has  elapsed.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  should  like  to  assure  you  that  if  she 
refuses  me  I  intend  to  go  on  asking  her.  Nothing,  short 
of  her  marriage  to  someone  else,  will  make  me  give  her 
up."  He  repeated,  and  as  he  did  so  Boringdon  fixed 
his  eyes  on  his  friend  with  a  peculiar,  and  what  Berwick 
felt  to  be  a  terrible,  look  :  *'  Nothing — you  understand 
me,  Berwick — nothing  but  her  marriage  to  another 
man." 


BARBARA   REBELL.  339 

The  speaker  of  these  strange  words  took  a  step 
forward.  For  a  moment  the  two  stood  opposite  one 
another.  The  man  Barbara  loved  was  a  brave  man, 
but  he  quailed  before  the  other's  eyes.  "  I  have  now 
told  you  what  I  came  to  say.  Of  late  you  seem  to 
have  become  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Rebell,  and  I 
wish  to  warn  you  that  the  day  may  come  when  I  shall 
require  your  good  offices.  Good-night," — and  without 
offering  to  shake  hands  with  Berwick,  Soringdon 
turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
*fflull  I  to  Honour  or  to  Love  give  way? 

For,  as  bright  day,  with  black  approach  of  nig)it. 
Contending  makes  a  doubtful  puzzling  light, 
So  does  my  Honour  and  my  Love  together 
Puzzle  me  so  I  can  decide  on  neither." 

Spenser. 

As  time  went  on,  as  harsh  winter  turned  into  soft 
spring,  Boringdon  tried  to  assure  himself  that  his 
conversation  with  Berwick  had  achieved  all  that  he  had 
hoped. 

James  Berwick  was  certainly  less  often  at  the  Priory, 
but  this  was  doubtless  owing  in  a  measure  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  to  be  constantly  in  London,  attending  to  his 
Parliamentary  duties.  Even  now  he  was  far  more 
frequently  at  Chancton  than  he  had  been  the  year 
before,  and  Oliver  was  still  jealous,  sometimes  in- 
tolerably so,  for  some  subtle  instinct  told  him  that  he 
was  on  a  very  different  footing  with  Mrs.  Rebell  from 
that  on  which  she  stood  with  Berwick.  As  to  his  own 
relation  with  the  man  with  whom  his  intimacy  had 
once  been  so  close,  it  had  become,  since  their  con- 
versation, that  of  mere  formal  acquaintance.  Mrs. 
Boringdon  felt  sure  there  had  been  a  quarrel,  but  she 
was  afraid  to  ask,  so  taciturn,  so  unapproachable,  had 
her  son  become. 

Oliver  had  one  subject  of  consolation.  To  the 
amazement  of  those  about  her,  with  the  exception 
perhaps  of  Doctor  McKirdy,  the  paralysed  mistress  of  the 


BARBARA  REBELL.  331 

Priory  now  caused  herself  to  be  moved  down  each  day 
to  the  Blue  drawing-room,  and  this,  as  Boriiigdon  of 
course  realised,  made  it  very  difficult  for  James 
Berwick,  when  at  Chancton,  to  see  much  of  Mrs.  Rebell 
alone.  • 

And  Barbara  ?  To  her,  as  to  Berwick,  the  weeks 
which  had  immediately  followed  the  fire  had  been  a 
time  of  deep  content  and  tranquil  happiness.  She  was 
well  aware  that  there  must  come  a  day  of  painful 
reckoning;  but,  unlike  Berwick,  she  put  off  the  evil 
moment  of  making  up  her  mind  as  to  what  form  that 
reckoning  would  take. 

She  looked  back  with  a  kind  of  shrinking  horror  to 
the  mental  struggle  she  had  gone  through  before  the 
accident  which  had  so  wholly  changed  all  the  circum- 
stances of  her  life.  Those  days  when  she  believed  that 
Berwick  would  never  return  to  her  were  ill  to  remember. 
Then  had  come  the  fire,  followed  by  hours  of  physical 
pain  and  terror  of  death,  but  now  she  looked  back  on 
those  hours  with  positive  gratitude,  for  they  had  surely 
brought  an  experience  nothing  else  could  have  given  her. 

At  once,  with  a  resistless,  quiet  determination  which 
had  constrained  those  about  Barbara  into  acquiescencCi 
Berwick  had  established  his  right  to  be  with  her.  The 
putting  on  of  the  coal — that  act  of  service  on  the  first 
evening — had  been,  so  Doctor  McKirdy  later  told  him- 
self with  a  twist  of  his  thin  lips,  symbolic  of  what  was 
to  be  his  attitude  to  the  Queen's  Room  and  its  present 
inmate.  Berwick  soon  came  and  went  as  freely  as  if 
he  had  been  the  invalid's  twin  brother,  or  he  a  father, 
and  Barbara  his  sick  child, — with,  however,  the  one 
significant  exception  that  both  he  and  she  refrained 
wholly  from  caress. 

The  old  Scotchman  won  a  deep  and  an  abiding  plaGC 


33a  BARBARA   REBELL. 

in  the  hearts  of  the  two  over  whom  he  threw,  durmg 
these  days,  the  ample  mantle  of  his  eccentricity  and 
masterful  disposition.  He  moved  over  to  the  Priory,' 
occupying  a  room  close  to  Berwick's,  and  in  some  odd 
fashion  he  made  each  member  of  the  large  household 
believe  that  it  was  by  his  order  and  wish  that  Berwick 
was  so  often  with  his  patient,  concerning  the  extent  of 
whose  injury  many  legends  grew,  for  she  was  only  tended 
by  Scotch  Jean,  French  Leonie,  Doctor  McKirdy,  and 
— James  Berwick.  And  so  it  was  that,  as  often  happens 
with  regard  to  events  which  none  could  have  foretold, 
and  which  would  have  been  described  before  they 
occurred  as  clearly  impossible,  what  went  on  excited, 
at  any  rate  within  the  Priory,  no  comment. 

The  strange  situation  which  had  arisen  did  not  pass 
wholly  without  outside  remark.  Lucy  Kemp  at  first 
came  daily — indeed,  sometimes  twice  a  day — to  sit  with 
Barbara  and  to  read  to  her  ;  and  though  at  those  times 
Berwick  kept  out  of  the  Queen's  Room,  there  came 
a  moment  in  Barbara's  illness  when  she  perceived, 
with  a  sad  feeling  of  humiliation,  that  Lucy's  visits 
were  being  curtailed,  also  that  she  never  came 
to  the  Priory  unaccompanied. 

To  the  girl  herself  her  father's  sudden  stern  objection 
to  her  daily  visits  to  Mrs.  Rebell  had  been  inexplicable, 
— even  more  so  her  mother's  refusal  to  discuss  the 
question.  Then  a  word  said  before  her  by  Mrs. 
Boringdon,  a  question  put  to  Oliver  as  to  James 
Berwick's  prolonged  stay  at  Chancton,  had  partly 
opened  Lucy's  eyes. 

"  Do  you  dislike  my  going  to  see  Mrs.  Rebell  because 
Mr.  Berwick  is  there  ?  " 

With  some  hesitation  Mrs.  Kemp  answered  her : 
"  Yes,  my  dear,  that  is  the  reason  your  father  does  not 
wish  you  to  go  to  the  Priory  so  often." 


BARBARA   REBELL.  333 

And  then  Lucy  had  turned  and  asked  one  of  those 
questions,  difficult  to  answer  truthfully  to  one  who,  even 
if  in  her  parents'  eyes  a  child,  was  yet  a  woman  grown  : 
**  Mother,  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Is  it  very 
wrong,  always  wrong,  for  a  woman  to  like  another  man 
better  than  she  likes  her  husband  ?  How  can  she  help 
it  if  the  man  to  whom  she  is  married  is  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Pedro  Rebell  seems  to  be  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Kemp  answered  with  unwonted  decision 
and  sharpness :  "  There  is  a  moment — there  is  always  a 
moment — when  the  matter  is  in  a  woman's  own  hands 
and  conscience.  And  in  any  case,  Lucy,  two  wrongs 
don't  make  a  right !  " 

And  with  this  the  girl  had  to  be  content,  but  the 
question  made  Mrs.  Kemp  more  than  ever  determined 
to  discontinue  her  daughter's  growing  intimacy  with 
poor  Barbara.  First  Oliver  Boringdon,  and  then  James 
Berwick, — this  Mrs.  Rebell  must  indeed  be  an  unfit 
friend  for  her  little  Lucy  ! 

To  Madame  Sampiero,  who  lay  at  the  other  end  of 
the  corridor  out  of  which  opened  the  Queen's  Room, 
the  doctor  would  sometimes  declare,  "  I've  little  mind 
for  the  part  I  am  playing."  But  when  she  answered, 
with  perplexity  and  fear  in  her  large  blue  eyes,  "  Why 
then  do  you  play  it  ?  "  he  would  content  himself  with 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  muttering  between  his 
teeth,  "  Because  I'm  a  sentimental  old  fool !  " 

But,  whatever  the  reason,  so  well  had  Doctor  McKirdy 
managed  the  extraordinary  situation,  that  not  till  Mrs. 
Rebell  was  promoted  to  getting  up  and  coming  down- 
stairs, did  the  long  hours  spent  by  Berwick  in  her 
company  provoke  the  kind  of  gossip  which  had  finally 
reached  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Boringdon.  Even  then  what 
was  repeated  had  been  said  in  jest.  Was  it  likely,  so 
the  humble  gossips  of  Chancton  would  have  declared, 


334  BARBARA    REBELL. 

that  such  a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Berwick  would  fancy  a 
lady  who  was  by  all  accounts  half  burnt  to  a  cinder  ! 

When  Madame  Sampiero  had  suddenly  made  up  her 
mind  to  be  moved  downstairs,  Barbara  knew  that  the 
old  Scotchman  and  her  god-mother  had  entered  into  a 
conspiracy  to  put  an  end  to  what  she  considered  her 
innocent,  if  peculiar,  intimacy  with  James  Berwick. 
There  took  place  in  her  heart  a  silent,  but  none  the  less 
strong,  movement  of  passionate  revolt, — she  thought 
this  attempt  to  check  their  friendship  the  more  cruel 
inasmuch  as  Berwick  had  to  be  away  a  good  deal  and 
could  only  now  and  again  snatch  a  day  from  London. 
Still,  it  was  then,  not  perhaps  till  then,  that  Mrs.  Rebell 
began  to  foresee  the  logical  outcome  of  the  situation 
into  which  she  had  allowed  heiself  to  drift. 

Ever}'  day  came  his  letters, — nearly  always  more  than 
one  together,  by  each  of  the  two  daily  posts, — but  he 
never  asked  her — significant  omission — to  answer  them, 
for  had  she  done  so,  all  Chancton  must  have  known  of 
the  correspondence.  And  yet  all  the  world  might  have 
seen  the  letters  Barbara  cherished,  and  on  which  her 
heart  lived  from  day  to  day ;  they  were  a  diarj-  of  the 
writer's  doings,  a  histor}'  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
House,  such  brief,  intimate  notes  as  many  a  politician 
writes  daily  to  his  wife. 

A  woman  is  always  quicker  to  perceive  certain 
danger-signals  than  is  a  man.  Barbara  was  aware  of 
the  change  of  attitude  in  Doctor  McKirdy  and  in 
Madame  Sampiero  long  before  Bensick  noticed  it. 
That  these  two  could  threaten  or  destroy  his  intimacy 
with  Mrs.  Rebell  had  never  occurred  to  him  as  being 
possible.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  resented  deeply 
Boringdon's  interference,  and,  as  far  as  was  possible,  he 
put  out  of  his  mind  what  had  been  undoubtedly  intended 


BARBAIL\   REBELL.  335 

as  a  threat.  The  reminder  that  Pedro  Rebell  lived  had 
been  an  outrage  ;  that  Barbara's  husband  was  mortal, 
nay,  on  the  eve  of  death,  a  piece  of  information  which 
Bei-wick  could  have  well  spared.  For  the  present  he 
was  content,  as  was  apparently  Barbara,  to  let  things 
drift  on  as  they  were. 

But  there  came  a  day  when,  after  a  long  afternoon  spent 
by  them  both  in  Madame  Sampiero's  company,  Berwick 
asked  Barbara  with  sudden  deep  irritation,  "  Why  is  it 
that  we  never  seem  to  be  alone  together  ?  I  have 
hardly  spoken  to  you  since  I  have  been  here  I  Is  i: 
impossible  for  you  to  leave  Madame  Sampiero  ?  Is 
there  no  room  in  the  whole  of  this  great  house  where 
we  can  talk  together  in  peace  ?  I  have  a  thousand 
things  to  say  to  you  I  '' 

They  were  on  their  way  to  the  dining-room,  there  to 
be  respectfully  chaperoned  by  McGregor,  and  Barbara 
had  no  answer  ready.  Suddenly  looking  into  her  down- 
cast face,  he  understood  the  unspoken  answer  to  his 
imperious  questioning,  and  his  eyes  flashed  \^Toth.  And 
yet  what  could  he  do  ?  He  could  not,  nay,  he  would 
not,  ask  her  to  stoop  to  an}-  kind  of  deception,  to  make 
secret  assignations  outside  the  house.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  no  longer  felt  "  on  honour  "  as  regarded  the 
woman  he  lo^•ed  :  even  less  was  he  bound  to  consider 
the  feelings  of  Madame  Sampiero. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Berwick  was  less  often  at 
the  Priory;  his  letters  to  Barbara  altered  in  tone, 
and  became  those  of  an  ardent,  of  an  impatient  lover. 
Sometimes  Baibara  wondered  whether  he  possessed 
secret  means  of  his  o\\ti  for  knowing  aii  that  went  on 
at  the  Priory,  and  of  obtviining  news  of  its  inmates. 
Occasionally  she  would  be  surprised,  even  amused,  at  his 
apparent  knowledge  of  little  incidents  which  occurred 


336  BARBARA   REBELL. 

during  his  absences.  The  source  of  his  information,  if 
it  was  as  she  suspected,  must  of  course  be  Mrs.  Turke ! 
Mrs.  Rebell  felt  a  little  afraid  of  the  old  woman,  of  her 
far-seeing,  twinkling  eyes,  and  of  her  sly  hilarity  of 
manner ;  she  kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the 
housekeeper's  way. 

To  Boringdon,  who  came  with  pertinacious  regularity, 
Barbara  gave  scarcely  any  thought,  save  perhaps  to 
wonder  why  Lucy  Kemp  was  so  fond  of  him.  In 
old  days,  when  he  had  talked  to  her  of  politics, 
and  of  things  in  which  she  had  begun  to  take  a 
new  and  keen  interest,  she  had  liked  to  listen  to 
him ;  but  now  he  seemed  tongue-tied  when  in  her 
presence,  and  she  perceived  that  he  was  no  longer  on 
good  terms  with  James  Berwick. 

With  Madame  Sampicro,  Barbara's  relations  'also 
seemed  to  have  become  less  affectionate,  less  intimate, 
than  before  the  fire,  and  this  troubled  them  both.  Mrs. 
Rebell  knew  herself  to  be  the  subject  of  anxious  thought 
on  the  part  of  her  god-mother ;  for  what  other  reason 
than  that  of  protecting  her  from  some  imaginary  danger 
had  Madame  Sampiero  altered  the  habits  of  dignified 
seclusion  to  which  she  had  remained  rigidly  faithful  for 
so  many  years  ?  She  did  not  see — or  was  it  that  she 
saw  only  too  well — the  force  of  her  own  past  example 
on  such  a  nature  as  that  of  her  god-daughter  ?  But 
it  was  too  late  now  to  try  and  separate  Barbara  Rebell 
from  the  one  human  being  who  made  life  worth  living, 
and  sometimes  the  younger  woman  longed  to  tell 
her  so. 

At  last  there  came  a  break  in  the  monotony  of  a  life 
which  was  beginning  to  tell  on  Barbara's  health  and 
nerves.  At  the  end  of  one  of  Berwick's  short,  unsatis- 
factory visits,  he  mentioned  that  he  would  not  be  able 
to  come  down  again  for  another  two  or  three  weeks. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  337 

And  when  he  was  gone,  after  a  cold,  estranged  farewell, 
uttered  perforce  in  the  presence  of  Madame  Sampiero, 
Barbara  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

Almost  at  once  her  god-mother  asked  her,  "  Would 
you  not  like  to  go  away,  with  Leonie,  to  Paris  for  a  few 
days  ?  "  She  caught  with  feverish  relief  at  the  proposal ; 
it  was  good,  it  was  more  than  kind,  of  Marraine  to  suggest 
so  delightful  a  plan  !  But  she  would  prefer,  honestly  so, 
to  go  alone,  not  to  take  the  old  French  servant  whom 
in  her  heart  she  well  knew  the  paralysed  woman  could 
ill  spare.  It  would  have  been  a  great  pleasure  to  Barbara 
to  have  had  the  company  of  Lucy  Kemp,  but  she  had  not 
dared  suggest  it,  being  afraid  of  a  refusal.  If  she  could 
not  have  Lucy  for  a  companion,  she  felt  she  would  rather 
go  alone.  And  Madame  Sampiero  had  at  last  consented 
to  this  modification  of  her  plan, — a  plan  which  had  not 
met  with  Doctor  McKirdy's  approval,  but  as  to  which 
his  old  friend,  as  was  usually  the  case,  got  her  own  way. 

And  now  had  come  the  last  night  but  one  before  Mrs. 
Rebell's  departure.  She  felt  excited  and  pleased  at  the 
thought  of  the  little  holiday.  Berwick  had  evidently 
been  told  as  soon  as  the  household  knew  of  her  coming 
journey,  and  yet,  when  writing,  he  had  only  once  alluded 
to  it,  and  she  had  felt  rather  hurt,  for  to  herself  it 
was  a  matter  of  much  moment.  This  journey  would 
be,  in  a  sense,  a  pilgrimage;  Barbara  meant  to  go 
to  some  of  the  places,  within  easy  reach  of  Paris, 
where  she  and  her  parents  had  spent  most  of  their 
exile.  During  the  last  few  days  she  had  passed  much 
time  in  discussion  with  Doctor  McKirdy  as  to  what 
she  was  to  see,  and  m  helping  him  to  draw  up  a  little 
plan  of  the  places  she  was  to  go  to, — Versailles,  St. 
Germains,  Fontainebleau,  with  all  of  which  she  had 
cherished   associations !     The    moments    went   by   so 

B.R.  Z 


338  BARBARA   REBELL. 

quickly  that,  for  the  first  time  for  many  weeks,  Barbara 
thought  but  little  of  Berwick,  and  of  her  own  strange 
relation  to  him. 

Now  she  was  on  her  way  to  bed.  She  would  have 
only  two  more  nights  in  the  Queen's  Room,  for  she  had 
herself  insisted  that  a  humbler  apartment,  but  still  one 
on  the  same  floor  as  that  of  Madame  Sampiero,  should 
be  found  for  her,  and  the  change  was  to  take  place  on 
her  return.  She  looked  round  the  beautiful  room  which 
had  become  to  her  a  place  of  so  many  memories,  and  as 
she  did  so  a  shadow  came  over  her  face.  Would  she 
ever  again  be  as  happy  as  she  had  been  in  this  room,  so 
simply,  childishly  content  as  during  those  days  when 
she  had  lain  on  the  great  canopied  bed,  while  those 
about  her  ministered  to  her  slightest  wish— when  she 
had  been  the  spoiled  darling  of  Doctor  McKirdy,  of  the 
grim  Scotch  nurse,  and  last,  not  least,  of  James  Berwick? 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door — a  hesitating,  low 
knock,  very  unlike  that  of  Jean  or  Leonie.  Barbara 
suddenly  felt  an  odd  pang  of  fear:  "  Come  in,"  she 
cried  loudly, — what,  after  all,  had  she  to  be  afraid  of  ? 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Mrs.  Turke,  resplendent 
in  the  bright  yellow  gown  in  which  Barbara  Rebell  had 
first  seen  her,  advanced  tip-toeing  into  the  room. 
"  Hush,  Ma'am — I  don't  want  anyone  to  hear  us ! 
Will  you  be  pleased  to  come  down  at  once  to  my 
parlour  ?  There's  someone  there  been  waiting  such  a 
time,  and  most  anxious  to  see  you — !  " 

Barbara  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  follow  the  old  woman  ; 
a  look  of  suffering,  of  humiliation,  came  over  her  face. 
Must  she  and  Berwick  stoop  to  this  ? 

But  Mrs.  Turke  was  in  an  agony  of  impatience. 
"He's  got  to  go  back  this  very  night!  "  she  whispered, 
and  the  jovial,  sly  look  faded  from  her  rubicund  face. 
"He's  walked  all  the  way  from  Halnakeham,  that  he 


BARBARA   REBELL.  339 

has,  in  the  pouring  rain,  and  he's  wet  through,  that  he 
is !  Am  I  to  tell  him  that  you  won't  come  down 
then?"  and  she  pretended  to  edge  towards  the  still 
open  door. 

"  No,"  said  Barbara  irresolutely,  "  of  course  I  am 
coming  down — " 

Mrs.  Turke's  account  of  Berwick's  long  walk  in  the 
rain  had  done  its  work,  and  yet  shame  of  a  very  keen 
quahty  almost  blotted  out  Mrs.  Rebell's  joy  at  the  thought 
of  seeing  him,  and  of  seeing  him — the  iirst  time  for 
weeks — ^without  fear  of  interruption. 

As  she  went  quickly  down,  following  Mrs.  Turke's 
ample  person,  and  so  through  the  stone  corridors  of 
what  had  been  the  mediaeval  monastery,  Barbara's 
heart  softened  strangely.  Had  he  not  made  this  hurried 
journey  to  bid  her  good-bye,  God-speed  ?  And  she  had 
.thought  he  did  not  care — 

Mrs.  Turke  knew  her  place  far  too  well  to  risk  being 
present  at  the  meeting  in  her  parlour.  She  stopped  at 
the  foot  of  the  short  flight  of  stairs  leading  up  to  her  own 
bedroom  and  Berwick's  old  nursery,  but  Barbara  clung 
to  the  fat,  ring-laden  hand:  "  Do  come,  Mrs.  Turke, — I 
am  sure  Mr.  Berwick  will  want  to  see  you " 

"  Bless  you,  no,  Ma'am,  that  he  won't !  Why,  I 
declare  your  ban  I's  burning!  There's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,  he's  a  most  reasonable  gentleman,  he  wouldn't 
hurt  a  hair  of  your  pretty  head  1 " 

And  then,  rather  to  the  old  housekeeper's  surprise, 
Mrs.  Rebell  suddenly  let  go  her  hand,  and  walked 
forward,  alone,  down  the  passage. 

When  she  reached  the  door  of  the  room  to  which  she 
was  bound,  she  stopped  irresolutely.  But  Berwick  had 
been  listening ;  he  flung  open  the  door,  and  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold  he  bent  forward  and  took  her 
hands  in  a  tight  grip. 


340  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Barbara  said  nothing,  but  she  looked  at  him  rather 
sadly,  and  as  she  did  so  she  perceived  that  he  was 
dressed  in  a  rough  shooting  suit  she  had  often  seen  him 
wear  the  autumn  before.  She  understood,  without  a 
word,  that  it  was  worn  to-night  as  a  half  disguise, — he 
wished  no  one  to  know  of  this  secret  visit  to  the  Priory, — 
and  again  a  feeling  of  shame,  of  humiliation,  swept  over 
her.  And  yet  how  glad  she  was  to  see  him,  how 
infinitely  dear  he  had  become  to  her  ! 

Suddenly  she  felt  herself  being  drawn, — nay  driven, — 
into  the  shelter  of  his  arms.  His  lips  trembled  on  her 
closed  eyelids,  were  pressed  on  the  slight  scar  left  by  the 
burn  on  her  forehead,  and  then  swiftly  sought  and  found 

her  soft  quivering  mouth .     But  even  then  Berwick 

was  very  gentle  with  her,  taking  care  to  bruise  neither 
the  soul  nor  the  body  of  the  creature  who  was  now, 
at  last,  completely  subject  to  his  will. 

Barbara  tried  to  withdraw  herself  from  his  arms, 
but  he  still  held  her  to  him  with  a  passion  of  mute 
feeling  in  his  eyes;  and  then,  while  looking  down 
at  her  strangely,  as  if  wishing  to  see  into  her  very 
heart,  he  suddenly  exclaimed  "  Barbara,  this  can't 
go  on !  What  is  to  happen  to  you  and  to  me  ?  As 
long  as  they  left  us  alone  I  was  content — ah  no, 
not  content,  but  submissive.  But  now  ?  Do  you 
think  it  is  pleasant  for  me  to  do  what  I  have  had 
to  do  to-night, — to  come  here  like  a  thief?  While  I 
was  waiting  for  you,  I  told  myself  that  doubtless  you 
would  refuse  to  come  down.  I  had  no  right  to  ask 
you  to  come  to  me.  It  is  I — I — who  should  always 
come  to  you " 

He  had  released  her,  and  drawn  himself  away.  Now 
he  was  speaking  with  a  tired  bitterness  which  frightened 
her,  and  in  a  moment  the  desire  to  soothe,  to  comfort 
him,  drove  out  from  her  every  thought  of  self.     "  Of 


BARBARA   REBELL.  341 

course  I  came  down, — I  will  always  come  when  you 
want  me,"  she  smiled  at  him  with  a  look  of  shy,  wistful 
tenderness. 

**  Will  you  ?  Always  ?  Is  that  true  ?  Oh  !  Barbara, 
if  I  could  only  believe  you  mean  those  words,  I  could  find 
courage  to  ask  you — to  say  to  you " 

"What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  Her  voice 
sank  to  a  whisper;  then,  seized  with  a  sudden  rush 
of  love,  of  pity,  of  self-abnegation,  she  added,  "  Nay, 
I  will  tell  you  !  You  have  come  to  ask  of  me  what 
Lord  Bosworth  must  once  have  come  to  ask  of  Madame 
Sampiero,  and,  like  her,  I  will  say,  yes, — "  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

And  then  she  listened,  very  quietly,  while  Berwick 
told  her,  with  broken  words  of  passionate  gratitude  and 
endearment,  of  the  plan  which  he  had  scarcely  dared  to 
believe  he  would  have  courage  to  propose.  She  knew  he 
had  a  house,  an  old  hunting  lodge  built  by  Louis  XIIL, 
on  the  edge  of  the  Forest  of  St.  Germains.  It  was  a 
curious  solitary  pavilion,  bought  by  his  father  as  a  very 
young  man,  and  dear  to  Berwick  and  his  sister  as 
having  been  the  scene, — the  speaker's  accents  became 
more  deeply  tender, — of  their  parents'  honeymoon. 
Within  a  drive  of  this  enchanting  spot  was  the  little  town 
of  Poissy,  where  the  mail  train  could  be  made  to  stop 
and  where,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  he  would  be  waiting — 

Barbara  sat  listening.  She  had  raised  her  head  and 
was  staring  straight  before  her.  Berwick  looked  at  her 
with  entreating  eyes — "  It  is  close  to  Paris  !  Besides, 
they  know  you  will  be  moving  about." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  she  spoke  with  difficulty,  hardly 
knowing  why  she  felt  so  torn  by  conflicting  feelings  of 
shame  and  pain.  Perhaps  it  was  only  because  the 
evocation  of  St.  Germains  brought  the  presence  of 
her  mother  before  her. 


342  BARBARA   REBELL. 

She  tried  to  tell  herself  that  she  had  known  that  this 
would — nay,  must — happen.  The  battle  had  been 
fought  and  lost  before  to-night.  During  the  long 
solitary  days  Barbara  had  just  lived  through,  she  had 
acknowledged  that  she  could  not  give  up  Berwick, — 
rather  than  that  they  must  inevitably  come  to  do  what 
Lord  Bosworth  and  Madame  Sampiero  had  done.  And 
yet  this  discussion,  the  unfolding  of  this  plan,  filled  her 
with  humiliation  and  misery.  "  When  I  come  back," 
she  said,  looking  at  him,  for  the  first  time  straight  in 
the  eyes,  "  I  shall  have  to  tell  my  god-mother — and — 
and  Doctor  McKirdy  the  truth." 

**  You  will  do  what  you  wish.  We  shall  both  do 
exactly  what  you  think  right,  my  dearest  1  "  Berwick 
could  hardly  believe  in  his  own  amazing  good  fortune, 
and  yet  he  also  felt  ill  at  ease.  "  Barbara,"  he  said 
suddenly,  "  before  I  go — and  I  ought  to  be  going  now, 
for  I  shall  cross  to  France  to-morrow — I  want  to  tell  you 
something " 

"  Something  else  ?  "  there  was  a  tone  of  appeal  in 
her  voice. 

"Yes,  it  will  not  take  long.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  begun  by  doing  so.  Some  time  ago  Oliver 
Boringdon  made  me  a  curious  confidence.  He  told 
me  that,  were  you  ever  free  to  marry,  he  meant  to 
make  you  an  offer,  and  if  you  refused, — he  was  good 
enough  to  intimate  that  he  thought  this  quite  possible, 
— to  go  on  doing  so  at  intervals  unless  you  became  the 
wife  of  another  man  1 " 

Barbara  looked  at  him,  and  then  began  to  laugh 
helplessly,  though  the  words  had  jarred  on  her  horribly. 
"  Oliver  Boringdon  ?  You  can't  have  understood ;  how 
dared  he  say  such  a  thing — about  me  ?  "  and  the  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Nay,  he  was  right,  perhaps,  to  say  what  he  did.    In 


BARBARA   REBELL.  343 

any  case  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  know — it  was  my 

duty  to  tell  you." 

"  But  why  ?  "  cried  Barbara.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  A  sop,"  he  said  with  sudden  sharpness,  "to  my  own 

conscience." 

But   conscience   proved  an  unappeased,   upbraiding 

companion  during  James  Berwick's  four-mile  walk  to 

Halnakeham  station. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

*They  have  most  power  to  hurt  us  whom  we  lovei 
We  lay  our  sleeping  lives  within  their  aimi.' 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

A  SHORT  avenue  of  chestnut  trees,  now  in  their  scented 
glory  of  rose-pink  blossom,  hid  the  square  red-brick 
hunting  lodge,  still  known  by  its  pre-Revolution  name 
of  Le  Pavilion  du  Dauphin,  from  the  broad  solitary 
roadway  skirting  the  Forest  of  St.  Germains.  Under 
this  avenue  James  Berwick,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  morning  of  the  day  he  was  expecting 
Barbara  to  join  him. 

It  was  seven  o'clock — not  early,  according  to  French 
hours,  for  now  and  again  the  heavy  wheels  of  a  market 
cart,  the  jingling  of  the  tiny  bells  hung  on  to  the  blue 
worsted-covered  harness,  the  neighing  of  the  horses, 
would  break  on  his  ear,  and  serve  to  remind  him  that 
he  was  in  France — in  the  land  where,  if  long  tradition 
speaks  truly,  the  thing  that  he  was  about  to  do  would 
find  many  more  honest  apologists  than  in  his  own  ; 
in  France  which  had  given,  close  to  this  very  spot,  so 
magnificent  a  hospitality  to  his  own  Stuart  ancestors. 
All  about  him  lay  the  deep,  mysterious,  unbroken  calm 
of  the  great  forest ;  every  trace  of  last  summer's  merry- 
makers— if,  indeed,  such  people  ever  made  their  way  to 
this,  the  further  edge  of  the  wooded  peninsula, — had 
been  completely  obliterated.  What  more  enchanting 
spot  could  be  found  in  the   wide  world  to  form  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  345 

setting   of  what   he    believed    would    be    a    life-long 
romance  ? 

Like  most  men,  he  had  always  seen  something  offen- 
sive, almost  grotesque,  in  the  preliminaries  now  usual 
to  conventional  marriage.  Heavens !  what  a  lack  of 
imagination  had  the  modern  bride  and  bridegroom  ! 
Especially  in  England — especially  in  his  own  class. 
Here  the  mating  birds,  amid  awakening  spring,  would 
sing  his  own  and  Barbara's  epithalamium. 

And  yet  Berwick  was  not  happy,  as  he  had  thought 
;o  be,  to-day.  Again  and  again  during  the  long  wakeful 
night  he  had  just  passed  he  had  caught  himself  wondering 
whether  his  uncle,  at  the  beginning  of  his  long  intimacy 
with  Madame  Sampiero,  had  felt  such  scruples  as 
these  which  now  tormented  him.  If  so,  they  had  soon 
vanished;  Lord  Bosworth,  during  many  years,  had 
been  supremely  content  with  life,  and  all  that  life 
brought  him. 

Perhaps  he,  Berwick,  was  made  of  more  scrupulous 
stuff.  To-day  he  had  to  face  the  fact  that  in  his  cup 
of  honey  there  was  a  drop  of  exceeding  bitterness.  The 
knowledge  that  Boringdon  might  be  mistaken, — that 
Barbara  might,  after  all,  never  be  free, — made  the 
matter  scarcely  more  tolerable.  Oliver  had  so  spoken 
that  at  the  time  his  words  had  carried  conviction. 
Berwick  asked  himself  why  he  had  not  told  her  the 
whole  truth,  and  then  let  her  be  the  judge  as  to  what 
they  should  do.  He  had  always  been  aware  that  there 
were  the  two  streaks  in  his  character — the  two  Stuart 
streaks — that  of  extreme  nobility,  and  that  which 
makes  a  man  capable  of  acts  of  inexplicable  betrayal. 
In  vain  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  now  was  too 
late  to  change.  Human  nature  has  its  limits  ;  in  a 
few  hours  Barbara  would  be  here,  and  with  quickening 
pulses  he  tried  to  think  only  of  the  immediate  future. 


34^  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Later  on,  there  would — there  must — come  inevitable 
pain  and  difficulty ;  they  would  have  to  face  the 
reproachful  ga^e  of  Madame  Sampiero,  the  undoubted 
disapproval  of  Lord  Bosworth,  and  yet  whose  example 
were  he  and  Barbara  now  about  to  follow  ? 

The  present  was  his  own,  no  one — no  one,  that  is,  but 
himself — could  deprive  him  of  to-day's  completed  joy  ;' 
and  yet  he  would  have  given  much  to  hasten  the  march  of 
the  lagging  hours,  to  sleep,  to  dream  the  time  away. 
Perhaps,  when  he  was  in  the  actual  presence  of  the 
woman  he  loved  with  a  depth  of  feeling  which,  to  a 
certain  extent,  purified  and  rendered  selfless  his  longing 
for  her,  he  would  find  courage  to  tell  her  the  whole  of 
what  Boringdon  had  said — 

This  concession  to  his  conscience  lightened  his  heart, 
and  he  looked  with  leisurely  and  pleased  gaze  at  the 
finely  proportioned  building — a  miniature  replica  of 
what  the  central  portion  of  the  Palace  of  Versailles 
must  have  looked  like  in  the  days  of  Louis  XI IL  No 
wonder  the  curious,  stately  little  pavilion  had  caught 
the  fancy  of  his  father — that  whimsical,  unfortunate 
Charles  Berwick,  whose  son  thought  of  him  far  oftener 
than  he  had  ever  done  as  a  younger  man.  The  Pavilion 
du  Dauphin,  put  up  for  sale  in  one  of  France's  many 
political  convulsions,  had  only  cost  its  English  pur- 
chaser twenty  thousand  francs ;  and  now  each  year 
Berwick  received  an  offer  from  the  French  Govern- 
ment to  buy  the  place  back  at  five  times  that  sum  ! 
He  always  refused  this  offer,  and  yet  he  came  there  but 
seldom,  sometimes  in  the  autumn  for  a  few  days, 
occasionally,  perhaps  once  in  two  or  three  years, 
with  Arabella.  Since  the  death  of  his  own  mother,  no 
woman  save  James  Berwick's  sister  had  enjoyed  the 
rare  charm  of  the  old  hunting  lodge. 

The  building  was  not  fitted  for  ordinary  life.     It 


BARBARA   REBELL.  347 

consisted  of  two  vast  central  rooms, — that  above  the 
central  hall  being  little  more  than  a  loft, — out  of  which 
opened  smaller  apartments,  each  and  all  bearing  traces  of 
the  prodigal  wealth  and  luxurious  fancy  of  that  fermier 
g^n^ral  into  whose  acquisitive  hands  the  place  had 
drifted  for  a  while  during  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  It  was  he,  doubtless,  who  had  added  the 
painted  ceilings,  the  panels  which  Berwick's  father 
believed  had  been  painted  by  Nattier,  and  which,  if 
this  were  so,  would  have  made  the  Pavilion  du  Dauphin 
a  bargain  even  at  the  price  which  Berwick  yearly 
refused  for  it. 

When  Arabella  was  there,  the  brother  and  sister 
managed  very  well  without  English  servants,  done 
for,  and  that  most  adequately,  by  an  old  garde  de 
chasse,  Jean  Lecerf,  and  his  wife,  whom  Berwick  paid 
generously  for  looking  after  the  property  during  the 
winter  months  of  the  year. 

This  old  couple, — with  the  solitary  exception  of  Lord 
Bosworth,  who  rarely  alluded  to  his  younger  brother, — 
were  the  only  people  who  ever  spoke  to  Berwick  and 
his  sister  of  their  parents.  Those  eccentric  parents, 
whose  marriage  had  been  in  itself  a  wilful,  innocent 
romance,  culminating  in  a  runaway  wedding,  had 
spent  five  summers  here,  bringing  with  them,  after 
the  first  year,  their  baby  daughter.  The  stories  the 
Lecerfs  had  to  tell  of  that  time  lost  nothing  in  the 
telling  ! 

Mere  Lecerf — a  name  generic  of  the  soil  in  that  part 
of  Northern  France — knew  very  little  of  her  present 
employer,  saving  the  agreeable  fact  that  he  must  be 
very  rich.  She  was  quite  unaware  that  he  was  a 
widower,  and  she  had  accepted  with  apparent  satis- 
faction, and  quaintly  expressed  felicitations,  the  story  he 
had  seen  fit  to  tell  her  within  an  hour  of  his  arrival  the 


348  BARBARA   REBELL. 

day  before — namely  that  he  was  now  married,  and  that 
his  wife  was  coming  to  join  him  for  a  few  days ! 

Berwick  would  have  preferred  to  make  no  such 
explanation,  but  something  had  to  be  said,  and,  after  all, 
would  not  he  henceforth  regard  Barbara  Rebell  as  in 
very  truth  his  honoured,  his  cherished  wife  ? 

He  walked  from  the  outside  air  into  the  spacious 
room,  into  which  the  morning  sun  was  streaming 
through  the  one  immense  window  which  gave  on  to  a 
steep  clearing,  now  carpeted  with  the  vivid  delicate 
green  of  lily-of-the-valley  leaves.  One  of  the  qualities 
which  had  most  delighted  him  in  Barbara  during  the 
early  days  of  their  acquaintance  had  been  her  perception 
of,  and  delight  in,  natural  beauty.  How  charmed  she 
would  be  with  this  place  !  How  the  child  which  had 
awakened  in  her  would  revel  in  the  strangeness  of  a 
dwelling-place  which  so  little  resembled  the  ordinary 
conventional  house ! 

Groups  of  fair  shepherdesses,  each  attended  by  her 
faithful  swain,  smiled  down  from  the  pale  grisaille  walls, 
but  close  to  the  deep  chimney, — indeed,  fixed  inside, 
above  the  wooden  seat — was  a  reminder  of  an  age  more 
austere,  more  creative  than  that  of  Nattier.  This  was  a 
framed  sheet  of  parchment — a  contemporary  copy  of 
Plantin's  curious  sonnet,  *'  Le  Bonheur  de  ce  Monde," 
whose  naif  philosophy  of  life  has  found  echoes  in  many 
worthy  hearts  since  it  was  first  composed  by  the 
greatest  of  Flemish  printers. 

"Avoir  une  maison,  commode,  propre,  et  belle, 
Un  jardin  tapissd  d'espaliers  odorans, 
Des  fruits,  d'excellent  vin,  peu  de  train,  peu  d'enfants, 
Possdder  seul  sans  bruit  une  femme  fiddle. 

"  N'avoir  dettes,  amour,  ni  proces,  ni  querelle, 
Ni  de  partage  a  faire  avecque  ses  parens, 
Se  contenter  de  peu,  n'esperer  rien  des  Grands, 
R^gler  tous  ses  desseins  sur  un  juste  module. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  349 

"Vivre  avecque  franchise  et  sans  ambition, 
S'adonner  sans  scrupule  k  la  devotion, 
Domter  ses  passions,  les  rendre  obdissantes. 

**  Conserver  I'esprit  libre  et  le  jugement  fort, 
Dire  son  Chapelet  en  cultivant  ses  entes, 
Cest  attendre  chez  soi  bien  doucement  la  mort* 

With  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  three  or  four  lines, 
Berwick  now  found  himself  in  unexpected  agreement 
with  old  Plantin's  analysis  of  human  happiness. 

And  Barbara  ?  Ah  !  she  undoubtedly  would  agree 
with  almost  every  word  of  it ;  he  caught  himself 
wondering  whether  the  position  he  had  won,  and  which 
he  owed  in  a  measure, — perhaps  in  a  very  great  measure, 
— to  his  wife's  fortune,  would  be  really  forfeited,  were  he 
to  become  again  a  comparatively  poor  man.  Berwick 
had  by  no  means  forgotten  what  it  was  to  be  straitened 
in  means ;  and  he  realised  that  want  of  substantial 
wealth  had  been  a  great  bar  even  to  Lord  Bosworth. 
Still,  oddly  enough,  the  thought  of  giving  up  his  wealth 
for  the  sake  of  Barbara  was  beginning  to  appeal  to  his 
imagination.  He  went  so  far  as  to  tell  himself  that,  had 
he  come  across  her  as  a  girl,  he  would  of  course  have 
married  her,  and  forfeited  his  large  income  without  a 
regret. 

So  it  was  that,  during  the  long  solitary  spring  day,  spent 
by  him  almost  wholly  in  the  forest,  Berwick  experienced 
many  phases  of  acute  and  varying  feeling,  most  of 
which  tended  to  war  with  the  course  to  which  he  was 
being  inexorably  driven  by  his  sense  of  honour  rather 
than  by  his  conscience. 

But  for  Boringdon's  revelation  as  to  Pedro  Rebell's 
state,  Berwick's  conscience  would  have  been  at  ease.  So 
much  he  had  the  honesty  to  admit.  Apart  from  that  one 
point  which  so  intimately  involved  his  honour,  he  was 
without  scruple,  and  that  although  he  loved  Barbara 


350  BARBARA   REBELL. 

the  more  for  being,  as  he  well  knew  she  was,  scrupulous, 
and,  as  he  thought,  conscience-ridden.  Nothing,  so  he 
told  himself  again  and  again  during  those  hours  of 
fierce  battle,  could  alter  the  fact  that  she  belonged  to  him 
in  that  special  sense  which  is,  as  concerns  a  man  and 
a  woman,  the  outcome  of  certain  emotional  experiences 
only  possible  between  two  natures  which  are  drawn  to 
one  another  by  an  over-mastering  instinct. 

In  the  days  that  followed  the  fire  at  Chancton  Priory, 
there  had  arisen,  between  Berwick  and  Barbara,  a  deep, 
wordless  intimacy  and  communion,  which  at  the  time 
had  had  the  effect  of  making  him  divine  what  was  in 
her  mind,  with  a  clearness  which  had  struck  those  about 
them  as  being  actually  uncanny.  And  yet  it  was  then, 
during  those  days,  that  Berwick  had  sworn  to  himself 
that  his  love  was  pure  and  selfless  in  its  essence.  As 
she  had  lain  there,  her  hand  quivering  when  it  felt  his 
touch,  every  gross  element  of  his  nature  had  become 
fused  and  refined  in  the  clear  flame  of  his  passion.  It 
had  been  during  these  exquisite,  to  him  sacred  moments, 
that  he  had  told  himself  that  on  these  terms  of  spiritual 
closeness  and  fusion  he  would  be  content  to  remain. 

But  alas  !  that  mood  had  quickly  changed  ;  and  the 
interview  with  Boringdon  had  reawakened  the  violent 
primeval  instinct  which  had  slumbered,  —only  slumbered, 
— during  the  illness  of  Barbara.  The  knowledge  that 
another  man  loved  her,  with  an  ordinary,  natural  love 
by  no  means  free  from  that  element  of  physical  attrac- 
tion which  Berwick  himself  had  been  striving,  not 
unsuccessfully,  to  control  in  his  own  heart,  had  had  a 
curious  effect  upon  him.  His  soul,  ay,  and  something 
much  less  spiritual  and  more  tangible  than  his  soul, 
rushed  down  from  Heaven  to  earth,  and  he  began  to 
allow  himself,  when  in  the  company  of  the  woman  he 
loved,  certain  experiments,  slight,  almost  gossamer  in 


BARBARA   REBELL.  351 

texture,  but  which  he  would  afterwards  recall  with  a 
strange  mingling  of  shame  and  rapture,  for  they  proved 
him  master  of  that  most  delicate  and  sensitive  of  human 
instruments,  a  pure  and  passionate  heart. 

The  wide  solitary  glades  carpeted  with  flowers,  the 
chestnut  groves,  skirting  the  great  avenue  of  rirs,  which 
is  one  of  the  glories  of  the  Forest, — everything  to-day 
seemed  to  minister  to  his  passion,  to  bring  Barbara  Rebell 
vividly  before  him.  Coming  on  a  bank  from  whose 
mossy  surface  sprang  high,  delicately  tinted  windflowers, 
Berwick  was  suddenly  haunted  by  a  physical  memory — 
that  of  Barbara's  movement  of  surrender  two  days 
before.  Again  he  felt  her  soft  quivering  mouth  yielding 
itself  to  his  lips,  and,  still  so  feeling,  he  suddenly  bent 
down  and  put  these  lips,  now  sanctified,  to  the  cool 
petals  of  a  windflower.  Was  it  a  sure  instinct  which 
warned  him  that  Barbara's  love  for  him,  even  if  it  con- 
tained every  element  the  natural  man  seeks  to  find  in 
his  mate,  was  so  far  governed  by  conscience  that  she 
would  never  be  really  content  and  unashamed  so  long 
as  they  were  outside  the  law  ?  More,  if  Boringdon  were 
right,  if  Pedro  Rebell  were  indeed  dying,  and  Barbara 
became  in  time  James  Berwick's  wife,  would  she  ever 
forget,  would  she  ever  cease  to  feel  a  pang  of  pain  and 
remorse  in,  the  fact  of  this  episode,  and  of  the  confession 
which  would — which  must — follow  after  ?  He  had  to  ask 
himself  whether  he  was  prepared  to  cast  so  dark  a  shadov/ 
over  the  picture  of  these  days,  these  hours,  which  her 
mind  would  carry  into  all  the  future  years  of  their  lives. 

More  difficult,  because  far  more  subtle  and  unanswer- 
able, was  the  knowledge  that  Boringdon  might  after  all 
have  been  wrong,  and  that  Barbara  might  never  be  free. 
In  that  case,  so  Berwick  with  fierce  determination  told 
himself,  he  would  be  fool  indeed  to  retard  the  decisive 


35a  BARBARA   REBELL. 

step  which  would  resolve  what  had  already  become, 
both  to  him  and  to  Barbara,  if  the  truth  were  to  be 
faced  honestly,  an  intolerable  situation. 

But  in  his  heart  Berwick  knew  well  that  Oliver 
Boringdon  had  spoken  the  truth.  Even  now,  to-day, 
release  might  have  come,  and  Barbara  might  be  a  free 
woman.  Slowly,  painfully,  as  he  fought  and  debated 
the  question  with  himself,  he  became  aware  that  only 
one  course  was  compatible  with  his  own  self-respect. 

A  secret  misgiving,  a  hidden,  unmentionable  dread, 
which  would  have  troubled,  perhaps  with  reason,  many 
a  man  in  Berwick's  position,  was  spared  this  man.  He 
knew  that  he  need  have  no  fear  that  Barbara  would 
misunderstand,  or  question,  even  in  her  heart  of 
hearts,  his  sacrifice.  It  would  not  be  now,  but  later, 
that  she  would  suffer, — when  they  went  back  to  their 
old  humiliating  position  at  Chancton,  as  lovers 
unacknowledged,  separated,  watched. 

And  so,  at  last,  the  outcome  of  the  struggle  which  saw 
him  go  through  so  many  different  moments  of  revolt 
and  sharp  temptation,  was  that  Berwick  brought  himself 
to  envisage  that  immediate  renunciation,  which  seemed 
so  much  more  difiicult  to  face  than  did  the  further,  if 
less  poignant,  sacrifice  which  still  lay  in  the  distant 
future,  when,  to  make  Barbara  his  wife,  he  would  give 
up  so  much  that  had  hitherto,  or  so  he  had  thought,  made 
life  worth  living. 

Slowly  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  Pavilion  du 
Dauphin,  there  to  set  himself  grimly  to  do  all  that  was 
possible  to  make  his  decision,  if  not  irrevocable,  then 
most  difficult  of  revocation.  Mere  Lecerf  was  abruptly 
told  that  as  her  master  must  leave  the  hunting  lodge 
that  night  she  must  arrange  to  come  and  sleep  there,  in 
order  that  "  Madame "  should  not  be  alone  in  the 
solitary  building.     But  that,   as   Berwick  well  knew, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  353 

was  by   no   means  enough,   for   Mere    Lecerf    would 
acquiesce  in  any  change  of  plan  with  joyful  alacrity. 

So  it  was  that  six  o'clock  saw  him  passing  into  the 
Pavilion  Henri  IV.,  the  famous  hostelry  which  terminates 
the  long  Terrace  of  St.  Germains.  There  he  was 
well  known,  and  could,  in  his  present  mood,  have  well 
spared  the  delight  with  which  his  orders  were  received, 
as  also  the  few  sentences  in  which  the  landlady's  young 
daughter  aired  her  English.  "  But  how  so !  Of 
course !  The  most  beautiful  of  our  rooms  shall  be 
ready  for  Monsieur's  occupation.  Perhaps  for  three 
nights  ?  La,  la  !  What  a  short  sojourn  !  A  carriage 
now,  at  once  ?  Another  one  to  be  at  the  Pavilion  du 
Dauphin  this  evening  ?     But  yes,  certainly ! ' ' 

Barbara,  stepping  down  from  the  high  French  railway 
carriage,  looked  about  her  with  a  strange  shrinking  and 
fear  in  her  dark  eyes.  From  the  moment  she  had  left 
the  boat  she  had  been  reminded,  and  that  intolerably, 
of  another  journey  taken,  not  alone, — on  the  day  of 
her  marriage  to  Pedro  Rebell.  The  last  few  months 
seemed  obliterated,  and  Berwick  for  the  moment  for- 
gotten. She  was  haunted  by  two  very  different  presences, 
— that  of  her  mother,  and  that  of  the  West  Indian 
planter,  whose  physical  nearness,  which  had  ever,  from 
their  marriage  day  onward,  filled  her  with  agonised 
revolt  and  terror,  she  seemed  now  to  feel  as  she  had  not 
felt  it  for  years,  for  he  had  soon  tired  of  his  victim. 
Had  it  not  been  that  thoughts  of  Madame  Sampiero, 
and  of  the  duty  she  owed  to  the  paralysed  woman, 
restrained  her,  she  would  have  been  tempted  to  open 
the  railway  carriage  door  and  step  out  into  the  rushing 
wind,  and  so  end,  for  ever,  the  conflict  in  her  mind. 

There  are  women,  more  women  than  men,  who  are 
born  to  follow  the  straight  way, — to  whom  crooked 

i&.K«  A  A 


354  BARBARA   REBELL. 

paths  are  full  of  unknown  terrors.  Such  a  woman 
was  Barbara  Rebell.  And  yet  the  sight  of  Berwick, — 
Berwick,  pale  indeed,  but  quiet,  self-possessed  and 
smiling,  as  they  advanced  towards  each  other  across 
the  primitive  little  station, — brought  comfort,  and  even 
security,  to  her  heart.  It  was  so  clearly  impossible 
that  he  would  wish  to  work  her  any  ill — 

No  other  passenger  had  got  out  at  Poissy,  and  the 
station-master,  who  knew  the  owner  of  the  Pavilion  du 
Dauphin,  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  man  and  woman 
now  going  towards  one  another.  The  information  given 
to  Mere  Lecerf  had  already  reached  him,  "  Cold  types, 
theiie  English !  "  but  he  cheered  up  when  he  saw 
Berwick  suddenly  bend  down  and  kiss  each  of  the 
traveller's  pale  cheeks,  in  French  husbandly  fashion. 
"  Salut  Monsieur !  Salut  Madame !  "  the  familiar 
accents  fell  sweetly  on  Barbara's  ear  as  she  walked 
through  to  the  town  square,  where  a  victoria  was 
waiting  to  take  them  to  the  Pavilion  du  Dauphin. 

As  she  sat,  silent  by  his  side,  Berwick  took  her  hand  in 
his.  Again  and  again  he  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  to 
tell  her  of  his  decision.  But  something  seemed  to  hold 
him  back  from  doing  so  now.  Later,  when  they  were 
alone,  would  be  time  enough. 

And  Barbara  ?  Still  full  of  vague,  unsubstantial  fears, 
she  yet  felt  free — absolutely  free — from  the  presence  which 
had  journeyed  by  her  side.  Berwick  now  stood  between 
herself  and  Pedro  Rebell,  but,  during  the  long  silent 
drive  up  the  steep  road  leading  from  the  valley  to  the 
forest  plateau,  Barbara's  mother  seemed  to  stand 
sentinel  between  herself  and  Berwick. 

At  last  they  were  alone, — alone  in  the  shadow-filled 
hall  where  the  beams  of  the  May  moon,  slanting  in 
through  the  wide,  curtainless  window,  warred  with  the 


BARBARA   REBELL.  355 

light  thrown  by  the  lamp  still  standing  on  the  table 
where  they  had  sat  at  supper  half  an  hour  before. 

As  she  heard  the  door  shut  behind  Madame  Lecerf, 
Barbara  had  risen  and  gone  over  to  the  friendly  glow 
of  the  fire.  She  was  now  sitting,  rather  rigidly  upright, 
on  the  wooden  bench  which  formed  a  kind  of  inglenook 
within  the  stone  fireplace.  Just  above  her  head  hung 
the  faded  gilt  frame  containing  Plantin's  sonnet;  her 
hands  were  clasped  loosel}^  over  her  knees,  and  she  was 
looking  straight  into  the  heart  of  the  burning  peat. 

Berwick,  himself  in  shadow,  watched  her  in  tense 
silence ;  there  was  something  enigmatical,  and  to  him 
rather  fearful,  in  her  stillness, — in  some  ways  he  felt 
her  more  remote  from  himself  than  he  had  ever  felt  her 
to  be  since  the  night  they  had  first  met. 

When  driving  from  Poissy,  he  had  taken  her  hand, 
and  she  had  let  it  rest  in  his ;  but  only  for  one  brief 
moment,  during  the  last  two  hours,  had  the  woman  he 
loved  shown  any  sign  of  emotion.  This  was  when,  as 
they  sat  at  table,  the  old  French  woman  serving  them 
had  said,  in  answer  to  some  question  :  **  Mais  oui, 
Madame  Berwick  !  "  and  Barbara's  face  had  suddenly 
become  flooded  with  colour. 

At  last  she  looked  round  from  the  fire,  and  sought  to 
see  where  her  companion  was  sitting.  Berwick  thought 
the  gesture  beckoned ;  he  leapt  up  and  came  forward 
with  a  certain  eagerness,  -and,  standing  before  her, 
smiled  down  into  her  serious  eyes. 

Suddenly  she  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  his  sleeve. 
"  Won't  you  sit  down,"  she  said,  "  here,  by  me  ?  " 

He  obeyed,  and  she  felt  his  arm  slowly  gathering  her 
to  him,  while  he,  on  his  side,  became  aware  that  she  first 
shrank  back,  and  then  gradually  yielded  to  his  embrace. 
Nay  more,  she  suddenly  laid  her  cheek  against  his  lips 
with  a  curious  childish  abandonment,  but  he  knew  there 

AA  2 


356  BARBARA   REBELL. 

was  something  wanting, — something  which  had  been 
there  during  the  moment  that  their  souls,  as  well  as 
their  bodies,  had  rushed  together  the  last, — the  only 
time,  till  now, — that  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms. 

She  made  a  slight,  an  ineffectual  effort  to  disengage 
herself  as  she  asked  in  a  low  voice :  "  Why  did  your 
servant  call  me  that  ?     Call  me,  I  mean,  by  your  name  ?  " 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  rather  huskily,  "  because  I 
told  her  that  you  were  my  wife.  I  hope  that  name  is 
what  all  will  call  you  some  day." 

Barbara's  lips  trembled.  "  No,"  she  said  very  slowly, 
"  I  do  not  think  that  will  ever  happen.  God  will  not 
let  me  be  so  happy.  I  have  not  deserved  it."  Yet  even 
as  she  said  the  words,  he  felt,  with  quick,  overmastering 
emotion,  that  she  was  surrendering  herself,  in  spirit  as 
well  as  in  body,  and  that  she  came  willingly. 

He  turned  and  caught  her  more  closely  to  him. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  listen  while  I  say  some- 
thing to  you  that  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said  before, 
earlier,  to-night." 

Then,  rather  suddenly,  he  withdrew  his  arms  from 
about  the  slight  rounded  figure  enfolded  in  them.  The 
utterance  of  what  he  had  made  up  his  mind  must  now 
be  said  had  become  immeasurably  more  difficult  during 
the  last  few  moments.  He  asked  himself,  with  rough 
self-reproach  and  self- contempt,  why  he  had  so  delayed, 
why  he  had  allowed  her  to  come  here  to  be  so  wholly 
at  his  mercy,  and  he — yes,  he — at  hers  ?  He  got  up 
and  walked  slowly  to  the  other  side  of  the  great  room, 
and  came  back,  even  more  slowly,  to  where  Barbara 
was  sitting. 

There  he  knelt  down  by  her. 

■'  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  be  kind  to  me  !  Help  me  !  My 
pure  angeljwhat  does  your  heart  tell  you  would  be  to-night 
the  greatest  proof  of  my  love — of  my  adoratioQ  of  you?" 


BARBARA  REBELL.  357 

And  then  the  most  amazing,  and,  to  the  man  looking 
up  at  her  with  burning  eyes  the  most  moving,  change 
came  over  the  face  bent  down  to  his.  Barbara  had 
understood.  But  she  said  nothing, — only  slipped  down 
and  put  her  arms,  a  wholly  voluntary  movement  of 
caress,  round  him,  in  a  strange  speechless  passion  of 
gratitude  and  tenderness. 

"Ah,  Barbara,"  he  said,  "you  have  made  me  know 
you  too  well.  You  have  allowed  me  to  see  too  clearly 
into  your  heart  not  to  know  that  I  was  a  brute  to  ask 
you  to  do  this  thing, — to  do  that  which  I  knew  you 
believed  to  be  wTong."  And,  as  she  pressed  more  closely 
to  him,  her  tears  wetting  his  face,  he  went  on  :  "  But 
I  promise, — I  swear, — I  will  never  ask  it  of  you  again. 
We  will  go  on  as  we  did, — as  we  found  ourselves  able 
to  do, — after  the  fire." 

"  But  will  not  that  make  you  unhappy  ?  "  Her  lips 
scarcely  moved  as  she  whispered  the  words,  looking 
into  his  strained  face  with  sad,  beseeching  eyes. 

**  Yes,"  he  said,  rather  shortly,  "  if  I  thought  it  im- 
possible, or  even  improbable,  that  you  would  become 
my  wife,  it  would  make  me  very  unhappy,  but  that, 
or  so  I  believe,  is  not  impossible,  not  even  improbable. 
Ah,  Barbara,  must  I  tell  you, — do  you  wish  me  to  tell 
you, — everything  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  sudden  fear  and  per- 
plexity. What  did  he  mean,  what  was  it  he  had  heard 
and  wished  to  keep  from  her?  But  she  would  trust  him, 
trust  him  to  the  end,  and  so,  "  No,"  she  whispered, 
"  tell  me  nothing  you  would  ever  regret  having  told  me. 
I  am  quite  content,  nay,  more  than  content,  with  your 
goodness  to  your  poor  Barbara." 

An  hour  later  Berwick  was  driving  away  from  the 
Pavilion  du  Dauphin,  not  to  the  station  as  Mere  Lecerf 


358  BARBARA    REBELL. 

believed,  but  to  St.  Gerraains,  within  easy,  tantalising 
distance  of  the  woman  he  had  just  left, — a  very  tearful, 
a  very  radiant,  a  most  adoring,  and  alas!  a  most 
adorable  Barbara. 

Looking  out  with  absent  eyes  across  the  great  moon- 
lit plain  to  his  left,  Berwick  thought  over  the  strange 
little  scene  which  had  taken  place.  He  hardly  knew 
what  he  had  said, — in  any  case  far  less  than  he  had 
meant.  Not  a  word,  for  instance,  of  what  Boringdon 
had  told  him, — how  could  he  have  spoilt,  with  the 
image  of  death,  such  an  evening  as  had  just  been  theirs? 
Heavens !  how  strangely  Barbara  had  altered,  even 
before  that  whispered  assurance  that  he  would  never, 
'never  ask  her  to  do  that  which  she  thought  wrong. 

When  he  had  first  brought  her  into  the  Pavilion, 
there  had  been  something  tragic,  as  well  as  touching, 
in  her  still  submissiveness  of  manner.  But  afterwards 
— ah,  afterwards  ! — he  had  been  privileged  to  see  a  side 
of  her  nature — ardent,  yet  spiritual,  passionate,  yet 
pure, — which  he  felt  that  he  alone  had  the  power  to 
awaken,  which  had  manifested  itself  only  for  him. 
How  happy  each  had  been  in  the  feeling  of  nearness  to 
the  other,  in  the  knowledge  that  they  were  at  last  free 
from  watching,  even  if  kindly,  eyes,  and  listening  ears, 
— what  happiness  they  promised  each  other  for  the 
morrow  !  They  would  give  themselves,  so  Berwick 
told  Barbara,  three  days  in  this  sylvan  fairy  land,  and 
then  he  would  take  her  to  Paris,  and  go  himself  back 
to  England. 

Barbara  Rebell  never  knew  that  those  three  days,  of 
to  her  unalloyed  bliss,  held  dark  hours  for  her  companion 
—hours  when  he  cursed  himself  for  a  quixotic  fool. 
But,  even  in  the  midst  of  that  strange  experience, 
Berwick  was  able  to  write  in  all  honesty  to  his  sister, 


BARBARA   REBELL.  359 

the  only  human  being  to  whom  he  confided  the  fact  that 
he  was  in  France, — might  she  not  already  have  learnt  it 
from  some  less  trustworthy  source  ? — certain  cryptic 
words,  to  which  she  could  then  attach  no  meaning : 
"  One  word  more.  I  wish  to  remind  you  that  appear- 
ances are  deceitful,  and  also  to  tell  you  that  I  have  at 
last  found  that  it  is  possible  to  be  good,  to  he  happy, 
and  also  to  have  a  good  time." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"There  are  moments  struck  from  midnights  1  * 

Robert  Browning. 

Within  a  week  of  her  return  to  Chancton  Priory, 
Barbara  heard  of  Pedro  Rebell's  serious  condition.  A 
short,  dry  note  from  Andrew  Johnstone  conveyed  to  her 
the  fact  that  he  was  dying,  and  that,  whether  he  Hved 
a  few  weeks  or  a  few  months  longer  was  in  his  own 
hands, — a  question,  however,  only  of  time,  and  of  a 
short  time. 

Berwick  had  judged  truly  the  woman  he  had  grown 
to  love  with  so  intimate  an  understanding  and  sym- 
pathy. The  news  of  approaching  release  let  loose  in 
Barbara's  mind  a  flood  of  agonising  memories,  which 
crowded  out  for  a  while  everything  else.  During  the 
long  years  she  had  endured  every  humiliation  such  a 
man  as  Pedro  Rebell  could  inflict  on  so  proud,  and  so 
sensitive  a  human  being  as  herself,  she  had  never  fore- 
seen this  way  of  escape.  He  had  ever  seemed  instinct 
with  a  rather  malignant  vitality,  and  the  young, — 
Barbara  had  remained  in  some  ways  very  young  after 
her  marriage, — are  not  apt  to  take  death  into  their 
calculations. 

For  some  days  she  told  none  of  those  about  her 
of  the  astounding  news  she  had  received  from  Santa 
Maria,  but  the  two  in  whose  thoughts  she  dwelt 
constantly  divined  her  knowledge.  It  quickened 
Boringdon's  desire  to  leave  Chancton,  and,  with  that 
self-delusion   to  which    men    who  love  are  so  often 


BARBARA   REBELL.  361 

prone,  in  Mrs.  Rebell's  new  coldness  of  manner  to 
himself,  he  saw  hope.  Not  so  James  Berwick, — he, 
judging  more  truly,  was  seized  with  a  great  fear  lest 
Barbara  should  think  it  her  duty  to  go  back  to  Santa 
Maria.  Rather  than  that,  so  he  told  himself  during 
those  days  of  strain  and  waiting  for  the  confidence  which 
she  withheld,  he  would  go  himself, — men  have  gone 
stranger  pilgrimages  on  behalf  of  their  beloveds. 

At  last  he  told  her  that  he  knew  what  was  so  deeply 
troubling  her.  "And  you  are  thinking,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  that  perhaps  you  ought  to  go  back  and  look  after  him 
till  the  end  ?     Is  not  that  so  ?  " 

Barbara  looked  at  him  very  piteously, — they  were 
walking  under  the  beeches,  and,  having  wandered  off 
the  path,  were  now  utterly  alone.  But,  before  she  could 
speak,  he  again  opened  his  lips :  "  If  such  action  is 
necessary,  if  you  do  not  think  he  will  be  well  cared 
for  by  those  about  him,  I  will  go  for  you." 

**  You  ?  "  Barbara's  dark  eyes  dilated  with  sudden 
fear—"  Oh  !  no,  not  you  ! " 

**  Indeed,  you  could  trust  me  to  do  all  that  was 
possible.  You  do  not  think,  surely,  that  your  actual 
presence  would  be  welcome  to  him?"  The  words  were 
uttered  very  quietly,  but,  as  he  asked  the  apparently 
indifferent  question,  Berwick  clenched  the  stick  he  held 
with  a  nervous  movement. 

"No,  I  should  not  be  personally  welcome." 
Barbara  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  almost  in  a  whisper ; 
she  felt  it  impossible  to  make  those  confidences 
regarding  her  life  with  Pedro  Rebell  which  another 
woman  would,  perhaps,  in  her  place,  have  been  eager 
to  make.  And  yet  she  longed  to  convey  to  Berwick 
how  short-lived  on  his  part  had  been  the  sudden  attrac- 
tion which  had  led  this  half-Spaniard  to  behave, 
in  those  sad  weeks  just  before  and  after  her  father's 


36a  BARBARA   REBELL. 

death,  so  as  to  bring  her  to  believe  that  marriage 
with  him  was  the  only  way  out  of  a  difficult  and 
undignified  situation  ;  how  little,  when  once  he  was 
married  to  her,  the  man  who  was  now  dying  had  taken 
her  into  his  scheming,  vicious  life. 

But  now  she  could  say  nothing  of  all  this.  And  yet 
those  few  words  with  Berwick  comforted  her,  and  made 
her  see  more  clearly,  even  gave  her  courage  to  tele- 
graph to  the  Johnstones, — only  to  receive  the  decided 
answer  that  all  that  could  be  done  was  being  done, 
and  that  her  coming,  from  every  point  of  view,  was 
undesirable. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Mrs.  Rebell  tell  her 
god-mother  the  news  which  meant  so  much  to  her* 
indeed  to  them  both. 

Madame  Sampiero  made  but  one  comment — "James 
Berwick  must  have  known  this  before  you  went  to 
France!" 

Barbara  bent  forward  to  hear  the  quickly  muttered 
words.  The  suggestion  surprised  her,  perhaps  troubled 
her  a  little.  She  hesitated, — but  surely  such  knowledge 
could  not  have  reached  him  before  it  reached  herself, 
and  so,  "  No — I  do  not  think  so,"  she  said. 

"  Ah  1  well,  I  do  think  so " 

Madame  Sampiero  said  no  other  word,  but  when  her 
mind — that  shrewd,  acute  mind,  as  keenly  able  to 
weigh  actions  and  to  judge  those  about  her  as  ever 
it  had  been — pondered  the  confession  Barbara  had 
made  to  her  immediately  on  her  return  from  France, 
her  heart  grew  very"  tender  to  James  Berwick.  She 
realised,  what  one  who  had  been  a  better  woman 
than  herself  would  perhaps  not  have  understood  so 
well,  the  force  of  the  temptation  which  must  have 
assailed  the  man  who  loved  Barbara  with  so  jealous 
and    instinctive    a    passion.      At   last,   too,    Madame 


BARBARA   REBELL.  363 

Sampiero  understood  the  riddle  of  Oliver  Boringdon's 
sudden  resignation  of  the  conduct  of  her  business.  It 
must  have  been  from  him  that  Berwick  had  learnt  that 
Mrs.  Rebel!  was  on  the  eve  of  becoming  a  free  woman. 
But  not  even  to  Doctor  McKirdy  did  the  paralysed 
mistress  of  the  Priory  say  what  was  in  her  mind  ;  the 
old  Scotchman  divined  that  her  view  as  to  the  danger 
of  the  relation  of  her  god-daughter  and  Berwick  had 
altered,  and  that  the  change  had  come  about  because 
of  some  confidence — or  was  it  confession  ? — made  by 
Barbara  within  a  few  hours  of  her  return  from  Paris. 
Only  Madame  Sampiero,  —  and,  long  afterwards, 
Arabella  Berwick, — ever  knew  of  those  three  days 
spent  by  Berwick  and  Barbara  at  St.  Germains. 

The  one  person  in  Chancton,  to  whom  Boringdon 
made  any  explanation  concerning  his  resignation  of  the 
post  he  had  now  held  for  nearly  two  years,  was  Lucy 
Kemp.  His  mother  told  her  many  acquaintances  that 
the  public  office  her  son  had  left  to  enter  Parliament 
had  found  it  quite  impossible  to  carry  on  its  portion  of 
the  nation's  work  without  him,  and  that  a  very  great  in- 
ducement had  been  held  out  to  him  to  persuade  him  to 
go  back  !  But  of  these  confidences  of  Mrs.  Boringdon's 
he  was  happily  ignorant,  and  to  Lucy  alone  Oliver  felt 
a  longing  to  justify  the  future  as  well  as  the  present. 

Shortly,  baldly,  making  no  excuse  for  himself,  un- 
consciously trusting  to  her  sympathy,  and  to  the 
instinctive  understanding  she  had  always  shown  where 
he  and  his  feelings  were  concerned,  he  told  her  the 
truth,  adding  in  conclusion  :  "  You,  now  knowing  her  as 
you  did  not  know  her  before  the  fire,  can  understand 

my "   he   hesitated,   then   brought   the   words   out 

with  a  certain  effort, — "  my  love  for  her.  I  shall  wait  a 
year  ;  I  should  not  insult  her  by  coming  any  sooner.     I 


364  BARBARA   REBELL. 

do  not  expect   to   be    listened  to — at  first.     She   has 

suffered "    Again  he  stopped  abruptly,  then  went  on  : 

*'  Lucy,  do  you  think  it  strange  that  I  should  tell  you 
all  this  ?  "  And,  as  she  shook  her  head,  he  added : 
**  Lately  she  has  seemed  to  avoid  me, — that  is,  since  her 
return  from  France,  in  fact  since  I  know  that  my 
brother-in-law's  letter  must  have  reached  her." 

A  sharp  temptation  assailed  Lucy  Kemp.  Would  it 
be  so  very  wrong  to  break  her  promise  to  Mrs.  Rebell, — 
that  promise  given  so  solemnly  the  night  of  the  fire  ? 
Could  she  not  say  a  word,  only  a  word,  indicating  that 
he  was  making  a  terrible  mistake  ?  What  hope  could 
there  be  for  Oliver  Boringdon  if  Barbara  loved  James 
Berwick  ?  But  the  girl  fought  down  the  longing,  and 
Boringdon's  next  words  showed  her  that  perhaps  he 
knew  or  guessed  more  than  she  had  thought  possible. 

**  Perhaps  you  have  heard, — I  know  my  mother  has 
done  so, — foolish  gossip  concerning  Mrs.  Rebell  and 
James  Berwick,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  there  is  no 
truth  in  it.  Berwick's  financial  condition  makes  it 
impossible  that  he  should  think  of  marriage."  And,  as 
something  in  Lucy's  look  or  manner  made  him  aware 
that  she  also  had  heard  of,  perhaps  had  noticed,  the 
constant  presence  of  Berwick  at  the  Priory,  Oliver  bit  his 
lip  and  went  on,  rather  hurriedly :  "  I  am  not  excusing 
him.  I  think  his  assumption  of  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Rebell  has  been  regrettable.  But,  Lucy,  I  spoke  to 
him  about  it,  and  though  in  doing  so  I  lost  his  friend- 
ship, I  am  quite  sure  that  it  made  a  difference,  and  that 
it  caused  him  to  realise  the  harm  he  might  be  doing. 
In  a  country  neighbourhood  such  as  this,  a  n  an  cannot 
be  too  careful."  Oliver  delivered  himself  of  this  maxim 
with  considerable  energy. 

He  seemed  to  be  about  to  add  something,  then  changed 
his  mind.     One  further  word,  however,  he  did  say : 


BARBARA   REBELL.  365 

"  I  wonder  if  you  would  let  me  write  to  you  some- 
times, and  if  Mrs.  Kemp  would  mind  your  sometimes 
writing  to  me?  In  any  case  I  hope  my  mother  will 
hear  from  you." 

And  then,  for  a  short  space  of  time,  a  deep  calm 
settled  over  Chancton.  Berwick,  who  was  staying  at 
Fletchings,  came  almost  daily,  spending,  'tis  true,  long 
hours  in  Barbara's  company,  but  treating  her,  during 
that  strange  interval  of  waiting,  with  a  silent,  unma- 
terial  tenderness  which  moved  and  rather  surprised 
those  about  them. 

Barbara  and  her  god-mother  were  in  the  Blue  draw- 
mg-room,  spending  there,  not  unhappily,  a  solitary 
evening.  Spring  had  suddenly  become  summer.  It 
was  so  hot  that  the  younger  woman,  when  coming 
back  from  the  dining-room,  had  left  the  doors  delibe- 
rately wide  open,  but  no  sound  came  from  the  great  hall 
and  upper  stories  of  the  Priory. 

Madame  Sampiero  preferred  the  twilight,  and  the  two 
candles,  placed  far  behind  her  couch,  left  her  own  still 
face  and  quivering  lips  in  shadow,  while  casting  a  not 
unkindly  light  on  her  companion. 

Barbara  had  been  fanning  the  paralysed  woman,  but 
during  the  last  few  moments  she  had  let  the  fan  fall 
idly  on  her  knee,  and  she  was  looking  down  with  a  look 
of  gravity,  almost  of  suffering,  on  her  face.  She  was 
thinking,  as  she  so  often  did  think  in  these  days,  of 
Pedro  Rebell,  wondering  if  she  ought  to  have  gone 
back  to  Santa  Maria  as  soon  as  she  received  Andrew 
Johnstone's  letter.  Had  she  believed  that  her  presence 
would  bring  pleasure  or  consolation  to  the  man  who, 
she  was  told,  was  so  soon  to  die,  she  might  have  found 
the  strength  to  go  to  him, — her  mother  would  have  said 
that  in  any  case  her  duty  was  to  be  there, — but  then 


366  BARBARA   REBELL. 

her  mother  had  never  come  across,  had  never  imagined 
— thank  God  that  it  was  so  1 — such  a  man  as  her 
daughter  had  married.  And  so  little  doe^  even  the 
tenderest  and  most  intelligent  love  bridge  the  gulf 
between  any  two  of  us,  that  Madame  Sampiero,  taking 
note  of  the  downcast  eyes,  thought  Barbara  absorbed  in 
some  happy  vision  of  dreams  come  true. 

A  good  and  noble  deed,  even  if  it  takes  the  unusual 
form  of  supreme  personal  self-abnegation,  often  has  a 
far-reaching  effect,  concealed,  and  that  for  ever,  from 
the  doer.  How  amazed  James  Berwick  would  have 
been  to  learn  that  one  result  of  his  renunciation  had 
been  to  broaden,  to  sweeten  Madame  Sampiero's  whole 
view  of  human  nature !  She  realised,  far  more  than 
Barbara  Rebell  could  possibly  do,  the  kind  of  heroism 
such  conduct  as  that  of  Berwick  had  implied  in  such  a 
nature  as  his,  and  she  understood  and  foresaw  its  logical 
consequence — the  altering,  the  reshaping  in  a  material 
form,  of  the  whole  of  his  future  life  and  career. 

Sometimes,  when  gazing  at  her  god-daughter  with 
those  penetrating  blue  eyes  which  had  always  been  her 
greatest  beauty,  and  which  remained,  in  a  peculiar  pathetic 
sense,  the  windows  of  her  soul  and  the  interpreters  of  her 
inmost  heart,  the  mistress  of  Chancton  Priory  wondered 
if  Barbara  was  aware  of  what  James  Berwick  had  done, 
and  of  what  he  evidently  meant  to  do,  for  her  sake. 

To-night  these  thoughts  were  specially  present  to 
Madame  Sampiero ;  slowly,  but  very  surely,  she  also 
was  making  up  her  mind  to  what  would  be,  on  her  part, 
an  act  of  supreme  self-humiliation  and  renunciation. 

**  Barbara,"  she  said,  in  the  hoarse  muffled  tone  of 
which  the  understanding  was  sometimes  so  difficult — 
"  listen — "  Mrs.  Rebell  started  violently,  the  two 
words  broke  the  silence  which  seemed  to  brood  over 
the    vast    house.       "  I   have    determined   to   receive 


BARBARA   REBELL.  367 

Julian — Lord  Bosworth.  You  will  prepare  him  " — she 
paused  a  moment,  then  concluded  more  indistinctly, 
"  for  the  sight  he  is  to  see." 

*'  But,  Marraine,  it  is  you  he  loves,  and  not — not " 

Mrs.  Rebell's  voice  was  choked  by  tears.  She  slipped 
down  on  her  knees,  and  laid  her  two  hands  on  Madame 
Sampiero's  stiff  fingers,  while  she  looked  imploringly 
up  into  the  still  face. 

Suddenly,  as  she  knelt  there,  a  slight  sound  fell  on 
Barbara's  ears  ;  she  knew  it  at  once  as  that  of  the  door, 
leading  from  the  great  hall  to  the  vestibule,  being 
quietly  closed  from  the  inside.  A  moment  later  there 
came  the  rhythmical  thud  of  heavy  footsteps  making 
their  way,  under  the  music  gallery,  across  to  the  staircase. 
A  vague  feeling  of  fear  possessed  the  kneeling  listener. 
Into  her  mind  there  flashed  the  thought  that  whoever 
had  come  in  must  have  walked  across  the  lawn  very 
softly,  also  that  the  footfalls  striking  so  distinctly  on  her 
ear  were  unfamiliar. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  an  amazing,  and,  to  Barbara 
Rebell,  a  very  awful  thing  took  place.  The  stiff  fingers 
she  held  so  firmly  slipped  from  her  grasp,  she  felt  a 
sudden  sensation  of  void,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw 
Madame  Sampiero,  drawn  to  her  full  height,  standing 
by  the  empty  couch.  A  moment  later  the  tall  figure 
was  moving  with  steady  swiftness  towards  the  door 
which  stood  open  at  the  other  end  of  the  long  room — 
Barbara  sprang  up,  and  rushed  forward  ;  she  was  just 
in  time  to  put  her  arms  round  her  god-mother  as 
Madame  Sampiero  suddenly  swayed — wavered — 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  for  outside  in 
the  hall  the  heavy  footsteps  had  stayed  their  progress — 

"It  is  Julian."  Madame  Sampiero  spoke  quite  dis- 
tinctly, but  she  was  leaning  heavily,  heavily,  on  her 
companion,  and  Barbara  could  feel  the  violent  trembling 


368  BARBARA   REBELL. 

of  her  emaciated  body.  "He  used  to  come — in  that 
way — long  ago —  He  thinks  I  am  upstairs.  You  must 
go  and  find  him — " 

To  Barbara,  looking  back,  as  she  often  did  look  back 
during  her  later  life,  to  that  night,  three  things,  in  their 
due  sequence,  stood  out  clearly — the  terrifying  sight 
of  the  paralysed  woman  walking  with  such  firm  swift 
steps  down  the  long  room  ;  the  slow  and  fearful  pro- 
gress back  to  the  couch ;  and  then,  her  own  fruitless, 
baffling  search  through  the  upper  stories  of  the  Priory 
— a  search  interrupted  at  intervals  by  the  far-away, 
but  oh !  how  clear  and  insistent  voice,  crying  out 
"Barbara!"  "Barbara!"  a  cry  which,  again  and 
again,  brought  the  seeker  hurrying  down,  but  with 
never  a  word  of  having  found  him  whom  she  sought. 

Doctor  McKirdy,  coming  in  as  he  always  did  come 
each  evening,  was  the  only  human  being  to  whom 
Mrs.  Rebell  ever  told  what  had  occurred  ;  and  she  was 
indifferent  to  the  knowledge  that  he  discredited  her 
statement  as  to  how  far  Madame  Sampiero  had  walked 
before  she,  Barbara,  had  caught  the  swaying  figure  in 
her  arms.  Would  she  herself  have  believed  the  story, 
had  it  been  told  her  ?  No,  for  nothing  could  have  con- 
vinced her  of  its  truth  but  the  evidence  of  her  own  eyes. 

As  was  his  way  when  what  he  judged  to  be  serious 
illness  or  disturbance  was  in  question,  the  old  Scotch- 
man was  very  silent,  intent  at  first  only  on  soothing 
his  patient,  and  on  having  her  transported  upstairs  as 
quickly  and  as  quietly  as  possible.  At  last  Barbara  heard 
the  words,  "I  promise  ye  most  solemnly  I  will  look 
mysel',  but  no  doubt  he's  away  by  now,  slipt  out  some- 
how"—  uttered  in  the  gentle  voice  he  only  kept  for  the 
woman  to  whom  he  was  speaking,  and  which  he  rarely 
used  even  to  her.     And  so,  when  Madame  Sampiero 


BARBARA   REBELL.  369 

was  finally  left  with  Jean — Jean,  whose  stern  counten- 
ance showed  no  quiver  of  curiosity  or  surprise, 
though  she  must  have  known  well  enough  that  some- 
thing very  unusual  had  happened — Mrs.  Rebell  followed 
Doctor  McKirdy  downstairs. 

"  Then  you  do  think  it  really  was  Lord  Bosworth  ? '' 
she  asked  rather  eagerly. 

"  Indeed  I  do  not !  "  he  turned  on  her  fiercely,  "  I  just 
think  it  was  nobody  but  your  fancy  ! " 

Barbara  felt  foolishly  vexed. 

"  But,  Doctor  McKirdy,  some  man  undoubtedly  came 
in,  and  walked  across  the  hall.  We  both  heard  him, 
quite  distinctly." 

"  And  of  whom  were  ye  thinking, — ay,  and  may-be 
talking, — when  ye  both  heard  this  mysterious  person  ?  " 

It  was  a  random  shot,  but  Barbara  reddened  and 
remained  silent. 

Doctor  McKirdy,  however,  did  not  pursue  his  ad- 
vantage. "  Look  ye  here,"  he  said,  not  unkindly, 
"  try  and  get  that  notion  out  of  her  head,  even  if  ye 
can't  out  of  yours.  If  I  thought  he  had  come,  that  it 
was  he" — he  clenched  his  hands,  "  'Twould  be  a 
dastardly  thing  to  do  after  what  I've  told  him  of  her 
state!  But,  Mrs.  Barbara,  believe  me,  'twas  all  fancy," — 
he  looked  at  her  with  an  odd  twisted  smile,  "  I'll  tell 
you  something  I've  never  told.  Years  ago,  just  after 
Madam's  bad  illness,  I  went  away,  more  fool  I,  for 
what  they  call  a  change.  Well,  wherever  I  went  they 
followed  me — she  and  little  Julia,  as  much  there  before 
me  as  you  are  now  !  'Twas  vain  to  reason  with  myself. 
Julia,  poor  bairn,  was  dead — who  should  know  it  as 
well  as  I  ? — and  Madam  lay  stretched  out  here.  And 
yet — well,  since  then  I've  known  that  seeing  is  not  all 
believing.  Once  I  got  back, — to  her,  to  them, — I  laid 
their  wraiths." 

B.R.  B  B 


370       -  BARBARA   REBELL. 

Barbara  shuddered.  "  Then  you  are  not  going  to 
look  any  more  ?  I  quite  admit  that  whoever  came  in 
is  probably  gone  away  by  now." 

"  Of  course  I'll  make  a  round  of  the  place.  D'ye 
think  I'd  break  my  word  in  that  fashion  ?  " 

Together  they  made  a  long  and  fruitless  search 
through  the  vast  old  house,  and  up  to  the  last  moment 
Barbara  thought  it  possible  they  might  find  someone 
in  hiding,  some  poor  foot-sore  sailor  tramp,  may-be, 
who  had  wandered  in,  little  knowing  of  the  trouble  he 
was  bringing — but  the  long  search  yielded  nothing. 

"  Are  ye  satisfied  now  ?  "  Doctor  McKirdy  held  up 
the  hooded  candle,  and  turned  the  light  on  her  flushed, 
excited  face. 

"  Yes ! — no ! — I  mean  that  of  course  I  know  now 
there  is  no  one  in  the  house,  but  someone,  a  man, 
certainly  came  in." 

For  long  hours  Barbara  lay  awake,  listening  with 
beating  heart  for  any  unwonted  so-..nd,  but  none  broke 
across  the  May  night,  and  she  fell  asleep  as  the  birds 
woke  singing. 

At  eight  in  the  morning  L6onie  brought  her  a  note 
just  arrived  from  Fletchings  :  "  Dearest, — Your  kind 
"heart  will  be  grieved  to  learn  that  my  uncle  died,  quite 
suddenly,  last  evening.  I  nearly  came  over,  then 
thought  it  wisest  to  wait  till  the  morning.  Better 
perhaps  make  McKirdy  break  it  to  her," 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"  O  sovereign  power  of  love  !     O  grief !     O  balm  1 " 

A  WHOLE  year  had  gone  by,  and  it  had  been,  so 
Chancton  village  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  agreed, 
the  dullest  and  longest  twelve  months  the  place  had 
ever  known.  What  events  had  happened  had  all  been 
of  a  disturbing  or  lugubrious  character,  and  even  Miss 
Vipen  confessed  that  there  had  been  really  nothing 
pleasant  to  talk  about ! 

The  Cottage  was  again  empty,  for  Oliver  Boringdon 
and  his  mother  had  gone,  and  their  departure,  especially 
that  of  Mrs.  Boringdon,  had  certainly  been  viewed 
with  sincere  regret.  She  was  such  an  agreeable,  pleasant 
person,  and  the  village  people  on  their  side  had  soon 
regretted  Oliver's  just  dealings,  which  compared  most 
commendably  with  the  favouritism  and  uncertain 
behaviour  of  Doctor  McKirdy,  who  now,  as  before 
Mr.  Boringdon's  brief  tenure  of  the  land  agency, 
acted  as  go-between  to  the  tenants  and  Madame 
Sampiero. 

Another  occurrence,  which  had  certainly  played  its 
part  in  bringing  about  the  general  dulness  and  flatness 
that  seemed  to  hang  over  the  place  as  a  pall,  had  been 
the  death,  from  sudden  heart  failure,  of  Lord  Bosworth. 
The  owner  of  Fletchings  had  been  for  many  years  the 
great  man  of  the  neighbourhood ;  his  had  been  the 
popular  presence  at  all  the  local  functions  he  could 
be  persuaded  to  attend,  and  there  had  been  a  constant 

B  B    2 


372  BARBARA    REBELL. 

stream  of  distinguished  and  noteworthy  folk  to  and 
from  his  country  house.  Even  those  who  only  saw 
Lord  Bosworth's  distinguished  guests  being  conveyed 
to  and  from  the  station,  shared  in  the  gratification 
afforded  by  their  presence.  The  only  day  which  stood 
out  in  the  recollection  of  both  gentle  and  simple  was 
that  of  Lord  Bosworth's  funeral ;  quite  a  number  of 
really  famous  people  had  come  down  from  London  to 
be  present. 

Then  had  followed  many  pleasant  discussions,  in 
Miss  Vipen's  drawing-room  and  elsewhere,  concerning 
the  late  peer's  will.  Lord  Bosworth  had  left  every- 
thing that  could  be  left  away  from  his  heir  to  the 
latter's  sister,  and  this  of  course  was  as  it  should  be. 
But  there  had  been  a  few  curious  bequests ;  a  con- 
siderable legacy,  for  instance,  to  Madame  Sampiero's 
old  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Turke ;  the  dead  man's  watch 
and  chain,  a  set  of  pearl  studs,  and  a  valuable  snuff-box 
which  had  been  given  to  him  by  the  Emperor  of  the 
French,  actually  became  the  property  of  Doctor 
McKirdy,  who — so  said  popular  rumour — had  begun 
by  declining  the  legacy,  and  then,  in  deference  to 
Madame  Sampiero's  wish,  had  accepted  it !  All  agreed 
that  it  had  been  very  generous  of  her  to  interest  herself 
in  the  matter,  for  strange,  very  strange,  to  say,  her  name 
was  not  mentioned  at  all  in  the  will !  Oddest  of  all, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  neighbourhood,  was  the  bequest  to 
Mrs.  Rebell  of  the  portrait  of  the  child,  described  as 
that  of  **  My  daughter  Julia  "  ;  but  the  picture  still 
hung  in  what  had  been  Lord  Bosworth's  study  at 
Fletchings.  There  was  a  crumb  of  comfort  inasmuch 
as  the  little  estate  had  not  been  sold.  Perhaps  the  new 
Lord  Bosworth,  to  whom  such  an  insignificant  posses- 
sion could  be  of  but  little  account,  intended  to  present 
it  to  his  sister,  Miss  Berwick. 


BARBARA   REBELL.  373 

The  fact  that  all  the  Priory  servants  had  been  put 
into  mourning  had  given  most  people  subject  for 
remark,  and  had  rather  scandalised  everybody;  it 
seemed  to  dot  the  i's  and  cross  the  t's  of  the  now  for- 
gotten scandal.  Indeed,  the  more  charitable  were 
inclined  to  think  that  the  servants'  mourning  was 
really  worn  because  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Rebell's 
husband,  which  had  become  known  at  Chancton  two 
days  after  that  of  Lord  Bosworth, — a  fact  which  had 
prevented  its  attracting  as  much  attention  and  com- 
ment as  perhaps  the  event  deserved. 

It  had  been  noted,  however,  with  a  good  deal  of 
concern,  that  Mrs.  Rebell  did  not  wear  proper  widow's 
weeds ;  true,  she  made  her  widowhood  the  excuse  for 
living  a  life  of  even  greater  seclusion  than  she  had  done 
before,  and  she  wore  black,  but  no  one — so  those  in- 
terested in  the  matter  declared — would  take  her  for  a 
newly-made  widow. 

Yet  another  thing  which  had  certainly  contributed 
to  the  dulness  of  the  neighbourhood  had  been  the 
absence,  the  whole  summer  and  autumn  through,  of 
the  new  Lord  Bosworth, — for  this  of  course  had  meant 
the  shutting  up  of  Chillingworth.  After  making  an 
ineffectual,  and,  so  most  of  the  people  belonging  to 
that  part  of  the  world  thought,  a  very  ridiculous 
attempt  to  assert  his  right  to  go  on  sitting  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  he  had  started  "in  a  huff"  for 
a  tour  round  the  world.  But  he  wrote,  so  said  report, 
very  regularly  to  Madame  Sampiero,  and  to  his  old 
nurse,  Mrs.  Turke.  He  had  also  sent  to  various 
humble  folk  in  Chancton  wonderful  presents ;  no  one 
connected  with  Chillingworth  had  been  forgotten,  not 
even  Dean's  new  baby, — to  whom,  by  the  way,  Dean's 
master  had  acted,  being  of  course  represented  by 
proxy,  as  god-father. 


374  BARBARA    REBELL. 

Now,  however,  the  neighbourhood  was  waking  up  a 
little ;  for  one  thing  the  wanderer  was  home  again, 
having  hurried  back  to  be  present  at  the  distribution  of 
the  Liberal  loaves  and  fishes, — strange  though  it  seemed 
that  a  peer  should  continue  to  be  a  Radical,  especially 
such  an  immensely  wealthy  peer  as  was  the  new  Lord 
Bosworth. 

With  only  one  group  of  people  might  time  be  said 
to  have  stood  quite  still.  These  were  General  and 
Mrs.  Kemp  and  their  daughter  Lucy.  But  Lucy  was 
certainly  less  bright — perhaps  one  ought  to  say  duller 
— than  she  used  to  be.  On  the  other  hand,  she  had 
become  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Rebell ;  they  were 
constantly  together,  and  people  could  not  help  wondering 
what  the  latter  saw  in  Lucy  Kemp. 

It  was  the  third  of  April.  Miss  Vipen  prided  herself 
upon  remembering  dates  ;  the  anniversaries  of  birth- 
days, of  weddings^  of  deaths,  lingered  in  her  well-stored 
mind,  and  she  also  kept  a  little  book  in  which  she  noted 
such  things.  To-day  was  to  be  long  remembered  by 
her,  for,  having  most  fortunately  had  occasion  to  go 
across  to  the  post  office  just  after  luncheon,  she  had 
seen,  lying  on  the  counter,  a  telegram  containing  a 
most  extraordinary  and  unexpected  piece  of  news. 

Miss  Vipen  regarded  telegrams  as  more  or  less  public 
property,  and  she  had  met  the  flustered  postmaster's  eye, 
— an  eye  she  had  known  absolutely  from  its  infancy, 
— ^with  a  look  of  triumphant  confidence.  Then,  by 
amazing  good  luck,  while  on  the  way  back  to  her  own 
house,  she  had  come  across  Mrs.  Sampson,  the  rector's 
wife,  and  from  her  had  won  ample,  overwhelming  con- 
firmation, of  the  most  interesting  event  which  had 
happened  in  the  neighbourhood  for  years  and  years ! 

It   was    a    delightful    spring    day   and    Miss   Vipen 


BARBARA   REBELL.  375 

decided  that,  instead  of  waiting  calmly  at  home  until 
her  usual  circle  gathered  about  her  at  tea  time,  she 
would  make  a  number  of  calls,  ensuring  a  warm  welcome 
at  each  house  by  the  amazing  and  secret  tidings  she 
would  be  able  to  bring.  Mrs.  Sampson  was  still 
bound  to  silence,  and  only  the  fact  that  Miss  Vipen 
was  already  acquainted  with  the  morning's  happenings 
had  made  the  rector's  wife  reluctantly  complete,  and 
as  it  were,  round  off,  the  story. 

Miss  Vipen's  first  call  was  at  Chancton  Grange. 
Since  General  Kemp  had  behaved  so  strangely  some 
two  years  before,  turning  on  his  heel  and  leaving  her 
drawing-room  before  he  had  even  said  how  do  you  do, 
she  had  scarcely  ever  crossed  Mrs.  Kemp's  threshold. 
But  to-day  an  unwonted  feeling  of  kindness  made  her 
aware  that  the  important  piece  of  gossip  she  came  to 
bring  would  make  her  welcome  to  at  least  one  of  the 
Grange's  inmates,  and  to  the  one  whom  she  liked  best, 
for  she  had  always  been,  so  she  assured  herself  to-day, 
rather  fond  of  Lucy.  Poor  Lucy,  wasting  her  youth 
in  thinking  of  a  man  who  would  certainly  never  think 
of  her,  and  yet  with  whom,  so  Miss  Vipen  understood, 
her  parents  very  wrongly  allowed  her  to  correspond ! 

The  old  lady  was  naturally  delighted  to  hnd  the 
inmates  of  the  Grange  all  at  home,  and  all  three  sitting 
together  in  the  room  into  which  she  was  shown.  Both 
the  General  and  his  wife  made  what  they  flattered 
themselves  was  a  perfectly  successful  attempt  to  conceal 
their  surprise  at  seeing  Miss  Vipen,  but  they  were  not 
long  left  in  doubt  as  to  why  she  had  come,  for  she 
plunged  at  once  into  the  matter,  looking  sharply  from 
her  host  to  her  hostess,  and  from  Mrs.  Kemp  to  Lucy, 
as  she  exclaimed,  "  I  suppose  that  you  have  not  heard 
the  great  news  ?  You  have  no  idea  of  what  took  place 
this  morning?     Here,  in  Chancton  Church?" 


376  BARBARA   REBELL. 

But  General  and  Mrs.  Kemp  shook  their  heads,  but 
their  daughter  began  to  look,  or  so  Miss  Vipen  thought, 
rather  guilty. 

"  Well,  there  was  a  wedding  at  our  church  this  morn- 
ing !  But  you  will  never  guess, — I  defy  any  of  you  to 
guess, — who  was  the  bride  and  who  the  bridegroom  !  " 

Then  the  speaker  saw  with  satisfaction  that  General 
Kemp  gave  a  sudden  anxious  glance  at  Lucy.  "  The 
lady  has  not  lost  much  time,"  continued  Miss  Vipen, 
"  for  her  husband  has  only  been  dead  four  or  five  months. 
Now  can  you  guess  who  it  is  ?  " 

But  Lucy  broke  the  awkward  silence.  "  Just  ten 
months,  Miss  Vipen — Mrs.  Rebell  became  a  widow  early 
in  June " 

"  Well,  no  matter,  but  can  you  guess  the  name  of  the 
happy  man  ?  Of  course  one  could  give  two  guesses " 

But  alas !  Miss  Vipen  was  denied  her  great  wish  to 
be  the  first  to  tell  the  delightful  piece  of  news,  for,  while 
she  was  enjoying  Mrs.  Kemp's  obvious  discomfort,  Lucy 
again  spoke,  and  in  a  sharp  voice  very  unlike  her  own, 

•'  Why,  Mr,  Berwick — I  mean  Lord  Bosworth,  of 
course!  Who  else  could  it  be?"  Then  she  looked 
rather  deprecatingly  at  her  parents  :  "I  could  not  say 
anything  about  it,  because  it  was  told  me  only  yester- 
day, as  a  great,  a  very  great,  secret." 

"  And  do  you  know,"  continued  Miss  Vipen  in  a 
rather  discomfited  tone,  **  who  were  the  witnesses  .-*  " 

"  No,"  said  Lucy,  "  that  I  do  not." 

"  Doctor  McKirdy  for  Lord  Bosworth,  and  Daniel 
O'Flaherty,  that  Home  Ruling  barrister  who  is  mixed 
up  in  so  many  queer  cases,  for  Mrs.  Rebell !  I  can  tell 
you  another  most  extraordinary  thing.  She  was  actually 
married  in  a  white  dress — not  a  veil  of  course,  but  a 
white  gown  and  a  hat.  And  who  else  do  you  think 
were  there  ?     Mrs.   Turke — it's  the   first   time  to  my 


BARBARA   REBELL.  377 

knowledge  that  she's  been  in  that  church  for  years — the 
Scotchwoman,  Jean,  the  French  maid  Ldonie,  and  the 
butler  McGregor!  Mrs.  Turke  wore  a  pale  blue  watered 
silk  dress  and  a  pink  bonnet ;  she  cried,  it  seems,  so 
loudly  that  Mr.  Sampson  became  quite  confused " 

"  And  Miss  Berwick  ?  "  said  Lucy  quietly,  **  was  she 
not  there  too  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course;  I  was  forgetting  Miss  Berwick. 
Well,  this  must  be  a  sad  day  for  her — after  all  her 
striving  and  scheming  for  her  brother !  No  wonder  he 
kept  Fletchings,  for  I  suppose  they  will  have  to  live 
there  now,"  Miss  Vipen  spoke  with  deep  and  sincere 
commiseration.  **  What  a  change  for  him  after  Chilling- 
worth  !  He  becomes  a  pauper — for  a  peer,  for  a  Cabinet 
Minister,  an  absolute  pauper  !  They  are  going  to  France 
this  afternoon  for  the  honeymoon,  but  they  are  to  be 
back  soon." 

When  Miss  Vipen  had  been  seen  safely  out  of  the 
gate  by  General  Kemp,  he  came  back  to  find  his  wife 
alone.     Lucy  had  gone  up  to  her  room. 

"  I  suppose  you  expected  this,  Mary  ?  " 

"Yes — no" —  Mrs.  Kemp  had  an  odd  look  on  her 
face — "and  yet  I  always  liked  Mr.  Berwick  from  the 
very  little  I  saw  of  him.  But  I  confess  I  never  thought 
this  would  happen.  Indeed,  I  was  afraid,  Tom, — 
there  is  no  harm  in  saying  so  now, — I  was  afraid  that  in 
time  Oliver  Boringdon  would  obtain  what  seemed  to  be 
the  desire  of  his  heart " 

"  Afraid  ?  "  cried  the  General,  "  Nothing  could  have 
pleased  me  better,  excepting  that  I  should  have  been 
sorry  for  Mrs.  Rebell  !  I  suppose  that  now  you  are 
quite  delighted,  Mary,  at  the  thought  that  Boringdon  will 
again  begin  haunting  Lucy.  It  is  not  by  my  good  will 
that  you  have  allowed  them  to  write  to  one  another." 


378  BARBARA    REBELL. 

Poor  Mrs.  Kemp  !  She  had  no  answer  ready.  During 
the  last  year  she  had  learnt  what  hatred  was,  for  she 
had  hated  Oliver  Boringdon  with  all  the  strength  of 
her  strong  nature ;  not  only  had  he  left  Chancton 
taking  Lucy's  heart  with  him,  but  he  had  made  no 
effort  to  free  himself  of  the  unwanted  possession. 
Na}^,  more,  almost  at  once  a  regular  correspondence 
had  begun  between  the  two,  and  though  Lucy  was 
not  unwilling  that  her  mother  should  see  his  letters, 
Mrs.  Kemp  did  not  find  much  to  console  her  in 
them. 

And  now  ?  The  mother  realised  that  she  must  make 
haste  to  transform  her  feeling  towards  Oliver  Boringdon 
into  something  akin  to  liking.  As  a  beginning  she  now 
went  up  to  Lucy's  room,  her  heart  yearning  over  the 
girl,  but  with  no  words  prepared.  Perhaps  now  her 
child  would  come  back  to  her — the  last  year  had  been 
a  long,  sad  year  to  Mrs.  Kemp. 

Lucy  was  sitting  idly  by  the  rosewood  davenport. 
There  were  traces  of  tears  on  her  face.  "  Mother !  " 
she  said,  "Oh,  mother  !  "  Then  she  took  Mrs.  Kemp's 
hand  and  laid  her  cheek  against  it.  In  a  very  different 
tone  she  added,  '*  I  felt  rather  ashamed  at  not  telling 
you  yesterday.  Barbara  would  not  have  minded  your 
knowing,  but  Lord  Bosworth  was  anxious  that  no  one 
should  be  told." 

"  Is  that  why  you  are  crying  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Kemp  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not !  I  am  afraid — Oh  !  mother  ! 
do  you  think  it  will  make  him  very  unhappy  ?  " 

"  For  a  little  while,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp  drily,  "  he  will 
fancy  himself  so,  and  then  he  will  begin  to  wonder 
whether,  after  all,  she  was  quite  worthy  of  him  !  " 

"  Don't  say  that — don't  think  so  unkindly  of  him  !  " 
Lucy  stood  up,  she  put  her  hand  through  her  mother's 


BARBARA   REBELL.  379 

arm,  "  Do  you  think  people  ever  leave  oif  caring,  when 
they  have  once  cared — so  much  ?  " 

"  Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  "have  you  ever  wondered 
why  your  father  and  I  married  so  late  ?  You  know  we 
were  engaged — first — when  I  was  only  nineteen " 

"  Because  you  were  too  poor !  "  cried  Lucy  quickly, 
"because  father  was  in  India!"  and  then,  as  her  mother 
looked  at  her  quite  silently,  the  girl  added,  with  a  kind 
of  cry,  "  Oh  !    mother  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean, — I  do  not  think  that  now  he  would  be 
unwilling  that  you  should  know,  my  darling, — that  a 
woman  came  between  us.  Someone  not  so  good,  not  so 
innocent  as  Barbara  Rebell, — for  I  do  think  that  in  this 
matter  she  was  quite  innocent,  Lucy." 

"  But  father  always  liked  you  best,  mother?  How 
could  he  help  it  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  "there  was  a  time  when  he 
did  not  like  me  best.  There  were  years  when  he  loved 
the  other  woman,  and  I  was — well,  horribly  unhappy. 
And  yet,  you  see,  he  came  back  to  me, — I  fought 
through, — and  you,  my  dear  one,  will  fight  through, 
please  God,  to  be  as  happy  a  woman  as  your  mother 
has  been  ever  since  you  have  known  her." 


THE  END. 


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